by Melissa Shaw
He straightened his tailored navy suit around the extra pounds at his middle. He was delectable.
“I’m sorry, Chloe, I didn’t realize you were on your way out,” he apologized. “This can wait till tomorrow.”
No. There was an air of eagerness bubbling around him like champagne in a glass, and it intrigued her. But then, everything about him intrigued her.
“That’s all right, Jonathan. What’s up?”
Two years at Pinnacle Real Estate and she’d risen from lobby receptionist to staff secretary to Assistant for the Director of Day-to-Day Management Stu Martin – he’d given the title to himself, and she preferred jackass, but she’d risen nonetheless.
Her duties overlapped from department to department, now. On most days, awesome responsibility; on others, awesome anxiety.
She eyed the binders and envisioned her squishy little stress ball. It worked for the job stuff and the … private worries. She blinked that thought from her mind, keenly aware of Jonathan’s concerned gaze.
He pushed aside stacks of work and leaned casually against the corner of her desk.
Need a chair, buddy? She didn’t ask it, but the brain sarcasm helped calm her jangling nerves. God, he was sexy.
“So, you’re the one who holds things together around here—sort of second-in-command. I thought I’d confer with you about a special project coming up.”
The one holding things together, eh? She liked the sound of that.
“Sure, I’ll be happy to put my oar in the water. Would you like to sit down?” She couldn’t resist. She gestured to the chrome and canvas chair backed up against the glass partition separating her office from open space.
“No,” his mouth quirked at the corner, “I’d rather discuss it over dinner tonight, if you’re free. You are free, aren’t you?”
Months of hearing his voice in the distance, months of drooling after him like puppy, months of business contact—and now this. Plans? She’d change them in an instant, if it meant she could be with him.
She clamped down on her rising excitement and tipped her head to the side – mock considering it. She pressed her lips together, then pursed them and said, “Actually, I am free. Mind if I take a few to freshen up?”
“Sure, take as long as you like. I’ve waited two years, I can wait ten minutes longer.”
What did that mean? Blood rushed to her face, and she rose quickly to hide the blush. If that wasn’t a promising sentiment, then what was?
Chloe slipped past him – the heat from his body drew her in but she forced herself to maintain the distance between them. The tip of her peep-toe pump caught on the chair’s caster and she stumbled. He reached out a steadying hand; his clutch on her upper arm sent electric charge along her nerves. She held back a gasp. Were those sparks in the air a figment of her imagination? She could’ve been in a Disney flick right now.
Jonathan stepped out of the way, eyebrows raised, breath ragged. He’d felt it too.
Chloe smoothed down the side of her pencil skirt, settled the collar of her white silk shirt, and managed, “Uh—I’ll—uh—be right back.”
Corporate headquarters took up the tenth floor of the Manhattan-based building, near Central Park, with access to public transit and loads of shops and restaurants. Its location was its strongest selling point: it was easy to do anything here.
Even if it that anything was a disappearing act.
They strolled down the hall, between rows of desks and observers. It was a gauntlet, and she’d have preferred an Indiana Jones movie. Give her gargantuan axes swinging from the walls over gossiping coworkers any day.
They chatted lightly, and her thoughts went mad in the background.
Why couldn’t this dinner have taken place after hours, when no one was around? Hell, even a breakfast meeting before work would’ve been better. By tomorrow the office would be a hotbed of gossip, with Chloe Sheldon and Jonathan Maynard the topic of bawdy jokes.
“I thought we’d go to Piper Lee’s, down the block,” said Jonathan pleasantly, as they approached the elevator. The shining brass doors, smudge-free surfaces, slid silently open and shut again after they moved into it. “It’s quiet and private, just the atmosphere I’m looking for. And it’s nearby enough to walk, since the weather is so pleasant.”
Would the atmosphere of the restaurant be on a par with the esoteric air of Pinnacle? How often had he breathed that air? She stared at his lips as they walked the streets and were ushered to their seats in Piper Lee’s.
They were in a softly lit corner booth. Romantic, much? Butterflies battered her stomach – equipped with combat boots, most likely. She was used to anxiety, but excitement? She’d strained to avoid that at any cost. Well, it was too late now.
Chloe perused her menu under the eye of the snobbish server. He tapped his thin, pale fingers on the side of his watch – was that a Timex? – and eyed her from beneath a refined brow.
“Drinks first,” decided Jonathan. “Whiskey and soda for me. Chloe?”
She hesitated. Dinner with the boss, and alcohol besides? Too much, too fast. “Just an iced tea, thanks.”
“Long Island?”
“Oh, goodness, no.” Hard spirits after a booze sabbatical: that was a deadly combo. She’d learned that long ago, at her own cost. She smiled, “Better keep my wits about me, if we’re discussing business.” That should lessen the sting of the refusal.
Jonathan leaned forward, propping one elbow on the table, chin resting in the palm of his hand, he gazed at her across the table with jarring intensity.
“That smile is the first thing I noticed about you,” he murmured. “Bright red lipstick framing that delectable soft mouth. I’ll bet there are men willing to march across Africa just to see one of your smiles.”
Say something. Do something! He’d frozen her to the spot. She raised a hand to her lips, absently and dabbed them with her napkin. It didn’t come away red – no smudge lipstick.
Jonathan nodded slightly and settled back against the rich upholstered seat. A wealthy, powerful man, focused on sharing a delightful dinner with a subordinate. But that heat – that sweltering, humidity – didn’t go away. Was it her?
Surely telling your subordinate she had a delectable soft mouth wasn’t procedure.
“Tell me about Chloe Sheldon. How long have you worked at Pinnacle, and what’s going on in your life?” It was a command and she hesitated to obey.
She set aside her mini-freak out at the lip comment and sidestepped, deftly. “I’m afraid you’d find my story very boring,” Just as it should be. The details that no one knew—that no one could ever know—would curl his straight hair.
“Not at all. But I’ll wager I can describe your upbringing, right down to a T.” He laughed, glancing through the murk, the haze of attraction and the dim candlelight. That chuckle tingled up her spine.
“Wager? You want to put money on that?” Chloe teased back, with a toss of her head and a flash of her eyes – he wanted to play, and she wasn’t going to let it go his way for long. “You’re on. Go ahead, tell me about my innocent childhood.”
“Okay, here goes. Small-town girl, middle-class household, a couple of siblings. How am I doing so far?”
Wrong on all counts, buster. Thankfully. “Exactly right. What else you got?”
“Plenty.” Grinning, he toyed with the lowest button of his suit jacket, then continued, “You’re an attractive woman, so you were popular in high school. On to college, probably something local, into cheerleading but no serious hard-core classes…”
Only partially wrong this time. “You must be gazing into a crystal ball,” she observed, “or reading tea leaves.”
“Naw. Tarot cards. Not sure about your history from there on, but eventually you moved to the Big Apple and applied for a position at Pinnacle at the ripe old age of 25. Stellar resume, exceptional work ethics, first-rate recommendation by previous employers. And beautiful, besides.”
“Chuck out the flattery, and I�
��d agree that’s true.” Enough flirting. She couldn’t afford to let this guy in too far and 1 out of 5 was already too close to the truth for her liking.
“So now,” Chloe looked up impishly from beneath her lashes, “I can only assume you’ll be selling the company to set up shop as a medium?”
“Ha!” He was pleased by her response. “Not exactly what I had in mind. Or…not exactly in the cards.” He winked. He was an undercover goof, this one.
Their server returned, placing their drinks with a flourish. Jonathan took a sip from his and smacked his lips, ostentatiously. “I’ve only been back in town a few weeks, business at the other offices called me away, but I’ve been trying to find time for a chat with everyone at Corporate. How do you like your work?”
What? This powwow was about employee satisfaction? Bull.
“Oh, I’m very happy with what I do. Plenty of variety, plenty of public contact, and just enough pressure to keep things interesting. Plus, I feel needed and—and…important…” she confessed, shyly. “And you, Jonathan? What’s your background?”
Another silent, barely noticeable intrusion by their server, this time to slip a plate of appetizers on the table in front of them. Jonathan reached for a crab-stuffed mushroom and took a bite with those crooked, wicked-looking teeth. His only real detraction, though it didn’t bother her one bit; why’d he never seen an orthodontist?
“I grew up in San Francisco,” he told her after the pause. “Second son of a pair of hippies. I love my parents, but they’re out of touch with everything in life. Too much sappy sentimentality for me to put up with. They and my older brother are tree-hugging environmentalists, all peace and good will and la-la land; and I’m the odd duck—a staunch conservative who believes in capitalism.”
“Someone has to do it.” Chloe’s light tone belied her sympathy with people who wanted to make the world a better place.
“You’ve got that right,” Jonathan agreed, just as lightly. “Might as well be me. You’ve read the advertising brochure detailing the history of Pinnacle. But you probably don’t know that I started this company with a giant loan and one small office.” He swirled the ice in his drink, “I’ve been expanding ever since.”
The color of Chloe’s eyes deepened with admiration. “And that, when you’re ready to acquire or build another, you spend months on site, getting everything up and running to your satisfaction.”
“Ah,” he said, gratified. “You have checked the facts.” He brushed back a lock of mouse-brown hair into his neat style with the palm of his hand. With enthusiasm came moderation, and an easing of uncompromising standards. Perhaps even a downgrade from costly suit to golf shirt and chinos.
“The background is important. I feel I can do a better job if I’m familiar with the company I work for, and the people I work with.”
“No complaints on that score. Here, the tilapia for the lady,” Jonathan interrupted to direct the server, “and the steak for me. Yes,” he continued, “the growth of Pinnacle has been within range. Ten offices so far, with more to come. But, at the present, we’re only national; I want to go international. Big plans for the future, if I can pull a few strings.”
There was a gleam of avarice there, and his expression tightened. A predator, ready to hunt. It reminded her of the battles that had raged across medieval Europe. Honor and integrity lost out to power and greed.
They went silent and tucked into their food, which was excellent and shared casual comments. “Would you pass the salt, please?” “Great flavor; love the sauce.” “I’m sorry—now the pepper?” “I think I’ll order another drink. Are you still working on yours?”
Classical music played softly through the elaborate sound system, interspersed with the off-and-on murmur of conversation and the muted clink of utensils.
“Nice, huh?” Jonathan nudged.
Chloe sent her warm smile across the table. “It’s lovely, Jonathan. Thank you for inviting me here.” She flushed under his teasing glances; once or twice he reached for his water glass at the same time she reached for hers. Their hands brushed in a symphony of suggestive touch.
Their dinner finished and the dishes cleared, Jonathan insisted they order dessert. “The Key Lime pie here is heaven. You’ll have to try it.”
Was it possible he didn’t want the evening to end? Or was she reading his intentions wrong? He was her employer. That meant no touchy, but hey, at least she could fantasize. Imagine he did find her attractive; picture them together even.
The first forkful of pie was bliss. Touch and taste were the senses: sensuality, earthiness, surrender to the flesh.
“Mmmm, sinfully delicious. I want the recipe for this.”
He smiled. “You can cook? Do you consider yourself a gourmet?”
“Most of what I do is with a microwave,” she admitted, twinkling a bit. “I share an apartment with a friend. Camille and I are polar, but we get on great.”
“Camille, eh? And how are you opposites?”
Chloe shrugged, the bodice of silk reflecting the glimmers of light. Jonathan’s gaze lingered where it shouldn’t. That stare was a caress, and her cheeks warmed again – no way had she imagined that.
“She’s an extrovert, and I’m more reserved. Camille‘s a journalist and she doesn’t take guff from anyone, anytime. Whereas I…”
“Whereas you,” finished up Jonathan, reaching out to stroke her wrist “do your best to get along with those around you. An admirable trait.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes not so much.”
“Yes, I can understand how that works. It’s okay to be a people-pleaser, but you don’t want to be a jellyfish, either. You need to stand up for yourself. As for me, I’ve had a couple of roommates—female…but it hasn’t worked out.”
A stab of jealousy assaulted her. Idiot. Of course he’d been with other women over the years. Just as she’d been with other men.
“Camille is my whole support system,” Chloe said staunchly. “She’s there whenever I need backup. She’s my best buddy.”
“So she knows you?”
No one knows me! She murmured into the silence, over the clinking of Jonathan’s fork against his saucer of pie, “When you come right down to it, how much do you know about anyone, really?”
Conversation lagged after that.
Chloe was out of practice with prolonged contact with the male gender. No dates, no hanging out, no social interaction meant a very narrow existence. Up until now, she’d preferred it that way.
Curled up like a snail inside its shell was safer. Much safer.
Jonathan asked for the check and then rose, escorting Chloe with a hand on her waist.
“Do you have a car?” he asked, once they emerged into the fresh spring air.
The air held a slight chill. A clock chimed ten in the distance, peering between the skyscrapers. Headlights glared and cab horns blared as vehicles bumbled their way from intersection to intersection.
“Yes. I drive depending on what I have planned. Today I took the subway.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” he objected, sternly. “I’m not letting you ride the subway alone at this hour. I’ll be happy to take you home.”
How could she refuse? Especially when his silver Porsche was parked a few blocks away. It twinkled and dared her not to fall in love with it – much like it’s owner.
The ride, once Chloe was securely buckled into her seat and the engine purred warmly, was even better.
Jonathan followed her directions north and east toward the interstate, driving carelessly. He whooshed in and around traffic with abandon, skirting delivery trucks with inches to spare, squeaking through yellow caution lights. Chloe hung on for dear life and muttered a prayer. Did the man have a death wish? Was he taking her with him to the afterlife?
She didn’t utter a word of complaint, only sighing an almost silent relief when they pulled into her drive.
He grinned at her. “Scared?”
“A little,”
she admitted with a nervous laugh. Danger wasn’t her middle name and never would be again.
“Sorry. I’ve just gotten used to tootling around Manhattan without much regard for anyone else on the road. A car like this is proof of power. Ready to go in?”
A broad half-flight of stairs led up to a converted brownstone. Jonathan glanced around with appreciation, waiting while she unlocked the hand-carved and finished front door. “Nice neighborhood, and very nicely rehabbed. Expensive area, though.”
“Having a roommate helps pay the bills,” she responded. He wasn’t being nosy on purpose; maybe she was just a little sensitive. She led him into the bright-lit foyer, the wooden floors polished to perfection. Chloe paused and indicated to another door to the left. “This is mine.”
“And this,” said Jonathan, on an indrawn breath, “is mine.” He pulled her into a close embrace, bent his head, and took possession of her.
Ambushed!
She didn’t have time to protest. For one dizzying, weakened moment, she merely submitted. Then the warmth and passion of his kiss undermined her reservation. She kissed him back, pressing against him, heat and electricity dancing through her. It had been so long. Too long. That stretch of time was eons spent in a dry, hopeless desert, lost. She’s just found an oasis and boy was the water sweet.
She lifted her arms, and slung them around his neck, her fingers entwined in his hair. She was alive. She sighed, drawing the breath from her toes to the top of her head. This was what it was meant to feel like.
That sigh was all the permission Jonathan needed. He broke free, snatched a breath and swept down for another kiss. He snugged his hand against her breast, pressing the silk against the lace of her bra. Oh god. She held back the moan by biting her lip.
The apartment door flew open with a jerk and a rasp. They nearly lost their balance and toppled inside.
“What have we here?”
Jonathan straightened, sucked in a lungful of oxygen, and set his suit jacket to rights. Chloe licked her lips and pulled a face – was he angry?
“Good evening. You must be Camille.” Jonathan stuck out a hand.
