Later that afternoon, when a session of the Senate was called, Pat and Blaise stayed and exchanged pleasantries with the five men who had become the saviors of her dream. During the whole period, whether she stood or sat, Pat felt that her knees were made entirely of water and she was amazed that they could support her at all. She hadn’t realized how very frightened she was of the whole ordeal until it was over.
And she knew that she would never have made it without Blaise’s support.
Chapter Ten
They stayed for a while, standing in the visitors’ gallery overlooking the proceedings on the Senate floor, just to get a touch of the local government. But in an hour’s time they were back at their hotel.
“We could stay another day,” Blaise said as Pat began to pack her suitcase. “I have the suite reserved until tomorrow night.”
“No.” Pat shook her head. “I’d better be getting back. There’s so much to be done if we’re to meet this deadline,” she said, worrying that they could not.
“You haven’t even seen your first Mountie,” Blaise said. “How can you go back to New Mexico and tell them you didn’t even see a Mountie?”
“I’ll tell them they weren’t in season,” Pat said with a smile, neatly folding her cocktail dress. A flash of last night danced before her eyes as she did so.
“Mounties are always in season,” Blaise said. “If you don’t want to see Mounties, we could just stay here and see each other,” he proposed, his voice growing warm and velvety as he took hold of both her hands.
That offer was much harder to cast aside. “Blaise,” Pat said with effort, fighting her own longings. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for the project. ...” Her voice trailed off.
“It wasn’t all for the project,” Blaise said. “Some of it was for me too,” he said, running his fingers along her jawline. He turned her face up to his and kissed her, the kiss penetrating deep into her soul.
“Blaise, you’re not making this easy,” she said, her words struggling to be heard.
“Good,” he replied. “I don’t intend to make your escape from me easy. You’ve got your loan, you’ve got your backers, and a busy little crew working their hearts out for you,” he said. “How about a little time for you and the white knight who came to your rescue?” he asked, tugging at her zipper, which began to slide down without much opposition from Pat.
“I’ve also got a family that’s fighting me in court in a week and a deadline to meet,” she reminded him, but her voice was far from firm as Blaise countinued undoing her clothes while his lips delivered soft, butterfly kisses on every inch of skin he uncovered.
“They’ll keep,” he promised. “And a few hours will make no difference to the deadline or the court.”
She was about to give in to his powers of persuasion, when her cell phone rang, casting a shrill, cold hand over the pervading warmth.
“Damn Alexander Graham Bell’s soul,” Blaise muttered as he released her.
It was Sam.
“More trouble, boss lady,” he said in his low-keyed voice, and it was as if a bucket of water had been thrown at Pat.
She gripped the phone with both hands. “What is it?” she asked tensely.
“Another part failed the stress test. Everything checked out okay, and then it just blew.”
“Can it be replaced?” she asked.
“Sure, but it’ll take time.”
“We’ve got until the thirty-first of December to get it off the ground and tested under safety regulations,” Pat reminded him, her nerves taut. Why was there always something?
There was a pause on the other end of the line, even though Sam knew about the deadline. “We can work in three shifts,” he volunteered.
“Will they?” she asked.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Blaise pull out his own suitcase. He knew without a word obviously, that this put an end to any further lovemaking between them. At least for now.
“For you, boss lady, they’ll probably jump through a few more hoops and do it gladly,” Sam said.
“Well, someone isn’t jumping through hoops for me,” she said cryptically. “Do you suspect anyone?”
“Not a clue,” he said, a trifle too quickly, Pat thought. “See you in the morning?”
“Yes. And, Sam—“
“Yes?”
“We’ve got thirty million dollars more to work with.” She hoped that the news would make him feel better.
She knew Sam well enough to know that there would be no whoop of joy from him. Sam preferred to see life’s limitations. “Let’s hope we’ve got a plane to work with,” he said and then hung up.
“Trouble?” Blaise asked as he finished his own packing and closed the lid on her suitcase.
Pat went to him, nodding absently. Had it been her imagination, or had Sam really answered her too quickly when she had asked if he suspected anyone? “Another failure.”
“It’ll all be ironed out in time,” Blaise assured her.
“How do you do it?” she asked, turning to look at him. “How do you keep from worrying about details? You always seem so carefree.”
“It won’t help to worry. It dulls the senses. I try to keep one step ahead of it all. If that doesn’t work, something else will,” he said matter-of-factly. “Here,” he said, tossing the box he had purchased yesterday on top of her suitcase.
Pat looked at him and then back at the box. So, it had been for her! With excited fingers, she opened it and found a long, cream-colored nightgown. The bodice was cut straight across, suspended on spaghetti straps and made of light lace. The sides fell straight down, with three straps of material lacing it together loosely on the side. Otherwise, it was completely slit up to the bodice. She held it up, then looked at Blaise with a question in her eyes.
“It’s always sexier if there’s a little something there to push aside,” he said with a wicked look.
“I’m surprised someone’s father or husband hasn’t had you shot long ago,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head as she gently folded the silky material. He had meant her to wear that tonight, with him. A pang came to her for a moment, thinking of what she was giving up. But there was still home, she thought, and Angelica slept soundly—or pretended to.
“I only prey on widows and orphans,” he said with a wink. “Besides, you’re not out of the woods yet, even if you’re leaving this frosty climate. C’mon, Amelia Earhart, before we miss our flight and you blame that on me, too.”
He wrapped her coat around her shoulders and picked up the two suitcases.
The flight home was much more pleasant and warm than the trip out had been. For the most part, her reservations about Blaise were gone. After all, Blaise had proven his respect for her, and besides, she was hopelessly in love with him. Except that now there was much more to it than losing her heart to a charismatic stranger across a crowded room. Now she appreciated the kind of man Blaise was.
Plus, he had managed to touch a part of her that she had never dreamed existed. He had changed her, opened her eyes to a wonderland that few knew of, and she could never be the same again. She would always love him for that, no matter what the future held.
As the plane landed, Blaise took her hand and just held it. A vast wave of comfort came to Pat from that gesture as she looked into the warmth of his eyes. If only this could last, she thought sadly.
When they disembarked, they were engulfed by reporters and cameramen wanting to know if their “mission” had been as successful as rumored.
“New Mexican newspapers have precious little to write about,” Pat said to Blaise over the din of questions.
“This isn’t exactly in the same category as getting first prize in the taffy pull,” Blaise replied, keeping her from minimizing her own accomplishments as he put a protective arm around her shoulders.
She liked that, too, she thought. No man had ever tried to bolster her morale. Roger had never tried to tear it down, that was true. But he hadn’t shown
the magnitude of his respect for her until just before he had died. Yes, Blaise was definitely one of a kind. No wonder no one had managed to snare him. He could get away with anything because of the way he made women feel while they were with him.
The reporters trailed them all the way to the car that Blaise had waiting for them. He truly had everything under control, she thought as they pulled away from the wall of reporters. And that, fortunately or unfortunately, included her too, she thought.
Angelica had a candlelit dinner waiting for them in the breakfast nook when they arrived.
“Also on your orders?” Pat asked as he helped her off with her coat.
“She’s in your employ,” he said innocently.
“Ah, but under your spell,” Pat added wisely.
“And you?” he asked, handing her coat to Angelica, who then disappeared, leaving them alone in the intimately set kitchen. “Are you under my spell as well?” he asked, his face a scant inch above hers.
“If you have to ask,” Pat said, her eyes dancing, “you’re not as good a magician as I thought you were.”
“Parrying and thrusting to the very end, eh?” Blaise asked glibly.
“For dear life,” Pat answered as she slid into a chair. She looked down at the inviting dinner and found that she was much too tired to eat.
“Why?” Blaise asked, his eyes deep and searching as he sat down opposite her. His eyes never let go.
“Before you,” Pat said carefully, trying to be honest, but avoiding his eyes, “Roger was the only other man in my life. I never saw myself as having a . . . relationship,” she said, searching for a word that was delicate yet would not make Blaise think that she was trying to corner him.
“Much less being part of a crowd of adoring women.”
“You could never be part of a crowd,” he said, not eating either as he studied her intently, his eyes warm and terribly inviting.
“Very gallant, Blaise,” she said with a smile, wanting him to know she was no fool, despite her feelings for him.
“Very true, Patti,” he said huskily.
“My turn,” she said, raising her hand like a schoolgirl. “Why did you ‘ride to my rescue’?” she asked, curious as to what he would say.
“One,” he said, ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “I thought I owed it to Roger. And two, I wanted to see how you really turned out. I’m not disappointed,” he said, his eyes speaking volumes.
“You wouldn’t say so if you were,” she said, staring down at the swirl of cold mashed potatoes.
Blaise lifted her chin until her eyes met his. “I wouldn’t be here if I were,” he corrected. “Enough serious talk,” he said, dismissing the subject with finality. “I’ve been patient long enough. I want to see what that nightgown looks like on a sensuous, mature, exciting woman.”
“You do know how to turn a phrase,” Pat said with a smile, trying to slow down her rapid heartbeat.
“I know how to fit a phrase,” he said, already leading her to her bedroom.
Pat gave little thought to work that night, or to anything else, as paradise reached out to claim her. But the morning’s light brought all the problems back to her and she was once more the chairman of the board, on whom the ultimate success or failure of the Eagle depended. She turned down Blaise’s offer for both a ride to the plant and an early morning “pick-me-up,” knowing that it would be far into the morning before she reached her destination if she gave in.
Sam was glad and grateful to see her. The same could not be said about Pardy, who complained about everything and bemoaned the fact that they would never be able to guarantee the success of the Eagle by the deadline. Pat took his words to heart, because he had been one of Roger’s staunchest supporters in the early days and because she believed that Pardy knew what he was talking about. But somehow, somewhere along the line, Pardy had lost his enthusiasm.
“Do you think he’s right?” Pat asked Sam when they were alone in her office that morning. Pardy had left them reluctantly, apparently not liking the fact that Pat turned to Sam rather than him for advice.
Sam leaned his long frame against the door-jamb, looking at the retreating back of the foreman. “Logically, he probably has something there. The men have been working awfully hard on something that, well, could just be a pipe dream. Despite the shares, there’s only so long you can work on faith and hope.”
“That’s just it,” Pat cried. “Faith and hope. Sam, we don’t have anything else. Oh, I know we’ve got those bright, quick-witted engineers out of Cal Tech and M.I.T., but without the enthusiasm, without the will, well, this thing could be years away from completion.” Pat sighed, shoving her hands into her deep pockets.
“That’s why I wanted you back,” Sam said. “You’re that enthusiasm, that spark that keeps them going. We both know that you don’t know all that much about what’s happening here—oh, enough to get us the right publicity,” he added positively, “but not enough to handle any actual problems. But it’s your belief in the men’s capabilities, belief in Mr. Hamilton’s designs and vision that fuels the others to keep on trying when every test goes haywire.”
Pat’s smile was deep and grateful as she said, “Sam, I’ve known you for fifteen years and that’s the most I have ever heard out of your mouth at one clip.”
“That’s the most you’ve heard out of my mouth in a month,” Sam corrected solemnly, “but when a thing needs saying, I’ll say it.”
Pat smiled at him fondly. “Well, I’d better go into the ranks, then, and spread some enthusiasm. We need instant goodwill if we’re to finish. Where’s our main problem?” she asked as they left the office together, heading for the ground floor and the assembly line.
With Sam’s words ringing in her ears, Pat felt compelled to spend more time in the office and turned down several of Blaise’s offers for lunch and dinner. She wondered, when she got the chance, what Blaise was doing to keep himself occupied and found that thoughts in that direction only distressed and distracted her from her job.
Sam was right. She didn’t know all that much, although she knew oceans more than she had a year ago. But her encouraging words, her willingness to listen, whether to a job-related problem or perhaps a few words of complaint about home life, endeared Pat to each and every one of the people who worked for her.
That was why it was so difficult for her to accept the idea that someone within the network was against her. A sabotage of the engine had been attempted. Someone who knew the operation had done it or had it done. It hurt.
Pat’s involvement with work helped her push aside some of the tension of waiting for the trial. Blaise had once again come to her aid, supplying her with the able assistance of Blair Afton, the lawyer who had helped draw up the agreement in Ottawa. Her own lawyer was disgruntled when he was pushed aside. But once his wounded pride was healed, the man was relieved to be out of Mother Rose’s line of fire.
Pat would gladly have run for cover herself that overcast, brisk Friday morning in the beginning of December as she watched the members of Roger’s family file in, keeping Sara and Bucky within their ranks. Staff workers were already busy putting up holiday decorations. The lights and sparkling garlands put a cheery atmosphere in motion, but she was much too tense to take any comfort in that.
On her side of the court sat Aunt Delia in her wheelchair, daring the young deputy to instruct her to take a seat and allow the wheelchair to be pushed out of the way. The tall, blond, gawky young man looked at Delia once or twice and apparently decided that it was in his best interests to steer clear of the matter. That brought the only smile to Pat’s face that morning, covering the ache she felt at having her own children visibly side with Mother Rose and the others against her. Blaise sat directly behind her and left only when Jonathan and Allen entered the court.
To Pat’s overwhelming surprise, the two hailed him, and he worked his way to the back of the room. After a rather lengthy conversation with them, he reseated himself behind Pat.
She looked at him quizzically, but Blaise offered her no words. As she turned toward the front of the court, the deputy called for all to rise.
Pat wondered what Roger’s brothers had said to Blaise. They had probably been trying to draw him into their conspiracy, but she knew now that they could never succeed. But why had the conversation taken so long? And why was Blaise reluctant to talk about it? She barely heard the instructions to sit, and Blair gave her sleeve a slight tug. She turned to look at Blaise and he offered her a confident high sign. Her emotions churned within her. Why was nothing simple? Why was nothing cut-and-dried? Oh, Roger, why did you have to die and do this to me? she thought almost in desperation before a calm came over her. No, no one was forcing her to do this. It was her fight now, and fight she would. If either Jonathan or Mother Rose or anyone else thought they could wrest control of Hamilton Enterprises from her, they had another think coming.
She looked up at the middle-aged judge with a new light of determination in her eyes. Let them all do their damnedest—she’d meet them head on!
The trial was rather a disappointment for the press, Pat later realized. They would have preferred that it drag on for days, possibly months, but it was over in short order. The judge was, as it turned out, sympathetic to Pat, who, with only two people in her corner, was obviously the underdog.
The winning stroke was both Roger’s physician, who gave testimony that he could not see where any of Roger’s mental faculties were impaired, and the agreement that Pat had obtained from the Canadian government for thirty million dollars.
“If I were to rule that Mrs. Hamilton is lacking in judgment for carrying out her late husband’s wishes, I would also be accusing members of the Canadian government of the same thing, and I for one would not want to start an international incident over this. Who am I to call members of the House of Commons and the Prime Minister himself a fool?” he asked, his white hair shaking vigorously as he made his statement. “That sort of criticism,” he added solemnly, “I reserve for members of our own Senate in the privacy of my own home.”
Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One Page 38
