The Bachelor Boss (O'Rourke Family 3)

by Julianna Morris

  Margie had been completely won over, and Libby worried the single mother was getting a serious crush on him.

  Except for his initial dismay, Neil had thrown himself into the bed-and-breakfast inn project with his usual pedal to the metal style.

  And it turned out that he had a sense of humor, too, darn it.

  Opening the back door, she stepped out into a flagstone patio and garden, now a wild tangle of growth, but once the recipient of loving attention. She followed the path to an ancient lily pond, where assorted ducks cheerfully paddled and quacked.

  “This is nice, but shouldn’t the ducks have migrated by now?” asked Neil as he walked down the path toward her.

  Libby lifted her shoulders. “I think they’re year-round residents. Are we going back to the real estate office?”

  “We’ll see Mr. Haney first thing in the morning. He’ll have the papers ready by then.”

  She hesitated, still wondering if he was angry. “Are you mad?”

  “About what?”

  “You know, about…the brass beds and stuff. I know it isn’t a good idea to let a real estate agent know we’re excited about a property, but I didn’t realize what I was talking to myself.”

  Neil looked at Libby, astonished.

  Mad?

  How could he be mad?

  At himself, maybe, for losing his perspective when it came to her and doing business, but not about the cute way she forgot herself and thought out loud. If he’d been mad about that he would have gagged her after the first house they’d looked at outside of Endicott.

  “No, I’m not mad.” Unable to resist, he put out his hand and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.

  Wanting to ask her opinion about something wasn’t all he thought about late in the evening; he also thought about her sweet, sassy mouth and the kindness she showed everyone. He woke up several times a night thinking her scent was clinging to his pillow and wishing it was real. For a guy who prided himself on keeping his private and business life separate, he was doing a lousy job.

  “Neil?”

  “Mr. Haney left already,” he whispered. “I think we just made his year buying this place.”

  “Why aren’t you mad?” she persisted.

  He sighed. No wonder his mother liked Libby; they were both equally stubborn.

  “I can’t explain it,” Neil admitted, letting his hand fall to his side. “You get excited like that and I know we’ve found a winner. I figure I can keep the business dealings sorted out.”

  Her eyes darkened. “You have to keep it sorted out because I’m so unbusinesslike. That’s what you meant.”

  Sheesh. He let out a breath. “Every time I think we’re past this nonsense, it comes back. I admit in the beginning I did think you weren’t the best choice as vice president, but I quickly discovered I was wrong.”

  “Really.”

  It wasn’t a comment, more a statement of disbelief, and Neil scowled.

  “Yes, really. And if you had any idea how much I hate saying I was wrong, then you wouldn’t be so skeptical.” It might be easier telling Libby he was wrong than admitting it to other people, but it still didn’t go down comfortably. Especially since he had this nagging compulsion to win her good opinion.

  “All right.”

  All right?

  Was that some kind of feminine set up, a trap waiting to be sprung on him? With four younger sisters he’d learned there were an inexhaustible supply of those traps, just waiting to trip you up when you least expect it.

  “You want to run that by me again?” Neil asked cautiously.

  Libby shrugged. “It’s all right. I’m getting hungry. Do you feel like pizza?”

  She turned and headed up the path toward the front of the house, and Neil’s scowl deepened. That wasn’t the end of it. It was never the end. Once a woman became more than a business partner she could mess with your mind, and like it or not, Libby was more than a business partner. Kissing her had made certain of that.

  Except…it did seem to be the end of it.

  At the pizza parlor Libby slid across the cracked leatherette of a booth and smiled happily. “This looks like Ginger’s pizza place.”

  Neil was considerably less enthusiastic. “Maybe we should check out the Chinese restaurant.”

  A perky waitress in a tight T-shirt and even tighter jeans walked up just then. She was tall, leggy, and her belly button showed, and Libby glanced wryly down at her more conservative outfit. Neil had suggested they wear more casual clothing on their scouting trips, so she’d chosen an eyelet blouse and full skirt to make it easier getting in and out of the Blazer. They were pretty and feminine, but hardly sexy.

  “Hi,” said the waitress. “My name is Sue. May I help you?”

  “Do you have any specialties?” Neil asked doubtfully.

  “Just what’s on the menu.” Sue motioned to folded sheets of paper stuck between the napkin holder and a shaker holding crushed dried red pepper.

  “I love your necklace,” Libby said quickly, directing a dire glance at Neil. They weren’t going to find some gourmet pasta with gorgonzola cheese and portabella mushrooms in a small town pizza joint.

  The waitress touched the silver Celtic knot at her throat and nodded. “Thanks. My dad made it. He got hurt working as a logger, so he’s trying his hand at jewelry. Not that there’s much market around here for that sort of thing.”

  Libby looked at Neil in time to see a flicker of pain in his eyes, and knew he’d been reminded of his own father who had died working for a logging company.

  “Er…what do you recommend?” she asked, pulling out one of the menus. They seemed to have a variety of selections, not all of them pizza.

  “It’s all good, except Tucker’s Italian chicken. If you ask me, Italy should sue Tuck for calling it Italian.”

  “I heard that,” shouted a voice from the back.

  Sue chuckled. “My husband makes great pizza, but he’s got no sense of humor when it comes to his cooking.”

  “Do you like pepperoni, or what?” Libby asked Neil. His face had frozen into an expressionless mask and she wished she’d never mentioned the other woman’s necklace.

  “We could put some artichoke hearts on if regular pizza’s not special enough for you,” Sue offered. “I’m sure we’ve got a jar of them back there someplace.” She gave Libby a wink.

  Libby coughed, torn between laughter and sadness. Neil still hadn’t figured out that small towns weren’t all that different from cities—people ranged from being blindly set in their ways, to others who were smart, savvy, and knew exactly where they wanted to be.

  She should have known it was a mistake dragging Neil to a pizza parlor—it was hardly his speed—but she’d had a sudden longing for something spicy and dripping with cheese.

  “No, thanks. How about a large pepperoni, olive and mushroom pizza, with extra cheese?” Neil suggested.

  It was almost her idea of the perfect pizza—put onions on top and it would be perfect. On the other hand, she didn’t want to have onion breath around Neil, so Libby nodded agreement and Sue took off for the kitchen. A friendly argument about Tuck’s Italian chicken started immediately, but so did the sound of clanking pots and pans.

  “I’m sorry,” Libby apologized after a minute. “But I doubt we’d find a place with a wine list around here.”

  Neil rolled his shoulders as if to work out a kink in his muscles. “This is fine. Actually, if I wasn’t driving I’d have a beer.”

  “If you don’t mind, I could drive,” she offered.

  To her surprise he agreed and ordered some light beer. It probably wouldn’t contain enough alcohol to relax him, but she hoped it would take his mind off less pleasant thoughts. She didn’t know if the reminder of Neil’s father had made him so quiet, but something was responsible.

  “Did you think I’d object to a woman behind the wheel?” he asked after a long moment.

  “No, but it’s your Blazer. Most people don’t like someone
else driving their car.”

  “Maybe.” He stared at the golden liquid in his glass, turning it this way and that. “Libby, you have to believe I think you’re terrific at all this. You’re smart and see beyond the surface much better than I can—it’s great the way you get swept into seeing what’s possible. That’s why I wasn’t angry this afternoon.”

  The pink color in her cheeks deepened. “Thank you.”

  With any other woman Neil would have expected she’d fish for more compliments, but not Libby. In fact, he was realizing she was quite different from the women he’d known, both professionally and socially.

  Hell, if she wasn’t so damned desirable she’d be the perfect vice president.

  Neil took a long swallow of his beer.

  He wanted to kiss her, get lost in her sweet scent and warmth and forget the thoughts nagging at the edge of his mind. He should have done it at the duck pond, but good sense had reared its ugly head.

  He wouldn’t kiss her tonight, either, because it wasn’t proper and she might think he was trying to start something.

  And the worst of it was, she might be right.

  Chapter Nine

  Libby sat on the edge of her bed and listened to the shower running in the room next door.

  To her relief they’d driven out to the freeway to find a better motel. She didn’t mind something simple, or even shabby, but the broken-down motel in Griffith had given her the creeps.

  Griffith sat on one of the approaches to Mount Saint Helens. The eruption of the volcano many years ago should have turned it into a prosperous tourist town, but Griffith hadn’t reacted quickly enough following the eruption, or else by then the town’s people were just too tired and discouraged to make the effort.

  Libby flopped backward and stared up at the ceiling. Neil had found a nice place for them to stay, with sterile, impersonal rooms and enormous beds. King-size beds. The kind you ought to be sharing with someone.

  Great.

  And just who would she share it with?

  A vision of Neil filled her head and she growled out loud. She would have sworn he was going to kiss her again, but it hadn’t happened and now she was going crazy wondering why. “Why?” was a stupid question. She’d gotten nervous and asked about him being mad, and everything had gone down from there.

  It wasn’t even that she wanted him to kiss her.

  Except she did.

  Rolling onto her side, Libby traced the pattern on the bedspread with the tip of her finger. The water was still running next door, and imagining what Neil looked like in the shower was totally distracting.

  Women who used the company fitness center said he worked out every night. He ran several miles on the treadmill, then lifted weights for a half hour, followed by twenty minutes on the rowing machine—all wearing a sweatshirt with cutoff sleeves and a pair of shorts that made feminine hearts palpitate wildly.

  Something thudded next door and Libby grabbed a pillow, pulling it over her head. It didn’t help. A vision of water streaming over powerful muscles rose in front of her eyes.

  All at once a tremendous crash in the next room made Libby sit bolt upright.

  She dashed outside to Neil’s door and pounded on it. “Neil? What happened? Are you all right?”

  The sound of muffled cursing ended as the door opened.

  Neil.

  With a towel wrapped around his lean hips, and the rest of him quite bare.

  Libby gulped.

  He seemed completely unaware of his near nudity, and she wished she could feel the same. Her entire body was reacting, with tingles racing from her scalp to her toes, and all the way back again.

  “Are you…” She stopped, suddenly realizing blood was trickling from his right eyebrow. “You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s nothing. I bent over to get the soap and the damned curtain rod fell and hit me. Get in here, you must be freezing out there,” Neil said abruptly, turning around.

  She must be freezing? She wasn’t the one with just a skimpy motel towel covering his wet birthday suit. Shaking her head, Libby stepped inside. “Do you have a first-aid kit?” she asked.

  “Can’t say that I do.”

  “I’ll get mine, then.”

  “Did you remember your key?”

  Libby groaned. No, she hadn’t thought to grab her key, she’d just thought of finding out what had happened to him. Muttering to herself, she went into the bathroom and collected a clean washcloth.

  She sucked in a breath when she spun around and found Neil right behind her, just inches away. She couldn’t decide if he was every woman’s dream, or her nightmare. It was like that milk commercial, where you got a scrumptious cookie to eat, then discovered there was nothing to wash it down with.

  “Uh…why don’t you sit down on the…uh…”

  “The bed?” he asked smoothly.

  “Unless you want to sit on the toilet,” Libby snapped, hating the way he unnerved her.

  “Not really.” Neil gave a small hitch to his towel and sauntered into the other room. She glanced at herself in the mirror and made a face, but she frowned when she realized the glass wasn’t fogged.

  “Did you run out of hot water?” she asked, following him.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Libby dabbed gently at his eyebrow, trying to see how badly he was cut. Fortunately the bleeding seemed to have stopped, so it wasn’t serious. “You were the one in the shower.”

  “Yeah, but I was using cold water—sort of had to, to get things under control.” He said it so silkily she barely noticed, then her cheeks flamed.

  “You must have appreciated Sue’s T-shirt,” she said. “Or rather, you appreciated what was filling it out.”

  It was a catty thing to say, especially since she’d liked the other woman, but she’d felt undeniably drab by comparison. A blouse and skirt were tame compared to painted on jeans and a two-sizes-too-small T-shirt.

  “Actually, I prefer more subtlety. Come here.”

  One minute Libby was standing, the next she was lying on the bed looking up at Neil.

  “I’ve taken a lot of cold showers lately,” he murmured. “Before meeting our charming and very married waitress.”

  His forefinger traced the neckline of her eyelet blouse and she stopped breathing for a minute.

  “S-sounds uncomfortable.”

  “Trust me, the alternative is worse.” Neil’s hand slipped lower, gliding over her tummy and abdomen in slow, lingering circles, and she bit her lip to keep from purring. The man might be impossible, but he had moments of pure genius.

  “I wouldn’t have thought you’d need cold showers. I mean, you’ve always seemed so much in control,” Libby said, hardly able to think.

  The lovely caresses ended and Neil dropped onto the mattress next to her, shading his eyes with the back of his hand. “Control is an illusion. You should know that by now, with your mother being sick for so long.”

  She sighed, and turned toward him. Her breast brushed his arm and she wiggled backward in embarrassment.

  “Don’t,” Neil said, putting his hand on her waist. “That felt nice.”

  “That’s just because I’m warm and your skin temperature’s around fourteen degrees,” she muttered.

  “Oh, no. Not because of that.” He tugged until she was flush with his body, and though his skin was undoubtedly chilled, the part of him snuggled against her hips seemed to be warming up. “You have some very nice…topography.”

  Though she felt herself blushing again, Libby chuckled. “Is that what you call it?”

  “Actually, ‘nice’ is too lukewarm. It’s more like spectacular topography.”

  If it was so spectacular, she wondered why he was still talking, instead of kissing. Of course, a modern woman wouldn’t wait for him, she’d just jump right in and…

  Putting thought into action, Libby pressed a kiss to Neil’s mouth, and almost instantly began scooting way.

  “Where are you going?”

&
nbsp; He caught her close, his lips covering hers with a demanding force. But the pressure gentled almost instantly, becoming coaxing, seductive, and so hot she felt flushed all over. Where were her principles? The ones that said she shouldn’t be doing anything intimate with a man she didn’t like.

  But was that still true?

  Not about her principles, but about liking him.

  Neil’s attempts to change since they’d begun working together were no longer so surprising. He’d shown extraordinary compassion to Margie and hadn’t crowed once about it, instead avoiding the subject altogether.

  “Is this all right?” he breathed between kisses.

  “What?”

  “This,” Neil muttered, giving into temptation and cupping Libby’s breast in his hand. Her nipple, firm and taut, burned the center of his palm and his cold shower was nothing but a distant, unpleasant memory.

  What had happened to him?

  What about his resolution not to start something? What about keeping things friendly and uninvolved? Hell, any hope of that was probably lost the minute he’d seen that silk nightgown she’d claimed was a wedding shower gift. She was such an odd mix of sex and innocence, he couldn’t figure her out.

  Libby arched upward and his breath went out in a rush. The firm, smooth curves of her breast plumped and he swept his thumb over the hard crown. Blood pooled, hot and urgent at the top of his thighs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so exhilarated, or when it had really mattered who he was holding.

  Libby mattered.

  She mattered so much it was making him nervous.

  Her fingers cupped the back of his neck, encouraging him, and he slid his tongue between her teeth, tasting dark hints of chocolate and coffee, while he waited for her to object. In the past weeks he’d learned that Libby had a passion for lattes—though she insisted on nonfat, decaffeinated, sugar-free concoctions that rightly deserved the moniker of “why bother.” But he didn’t care. Her own sweet flavor was far more enticing than the finest coffee on the planet.