by Linda Cajio
“I understand. Allan was my friend too.”
She smiled slightly, and he sensed she was softening to him a little. That pleased him. He was all too aware of her body close to his. It was as if the air pressure between them changed with each subtle shift and movement. Perfume swirled through his senses, mesmerizing him.
The strong urge to claim her, coupled with an overwhelming need to protect, surged through him. How Catherine provoked that response in him, he didn’t know. He only knew that she did.
“I’m okay now,” she said, and her firm voice shored up his faltering control.
Reluctantly, he let his arm drop and stepped away. Her armor might be back in place, but that didn’t stop what he was feeling. He stared at her in frustration, wondering if she’d ever stop punishing him.
“I only asked you once to go to bed with me,” he muttered.
She stiffened, not looking at him. “My wedding was three weeks away at the time,” she replied in a cold voice.
He grabbed the second box and slammed it onto the hood of the car. “You weren’t married yet.”
“That didn’t mean I was fair game.” She yanked things out of the first box and slapped them onto the hood, half hoping she’d scratch the umblemished paint. “I had a commitment I wasn’t about to break.”
“It was dead in the water before it even got started. Anyone could see that.”
Catherine gave him a glare worthy of his grandmother. He realized he might have gone too far with that last remark.
“I never had any intention to be another notch on your belt,” she said, then added, “Or should we look lower?”
“Be my guest.”
“No thank you.”
He leaned against the car. “What’s the matter? Afraid to find out you’re attracted to me?”
She steadily met his challenging gaze. “I am not attracted to you.”
“Then let’s test that theory, shall we?”
He straightened and pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his before she could protest. He pried her lips open and thrust his tongue inside. At first she resisted as he searched the sweet interior, then her tongue mated with his in a way that sent his mind spinning. The soft wanting of her mouth rocked him. His blood pumped hot and heavy, surging like an unstoppable tidal wave. Her body fitted perfectly to his, her breasts barely caressing his chest in a slow torture. His fingers tightened around her arms, bringing her closer. The kiss was fiery, filled with every long-suppressed fantasy about her …
She broke away abruptly. He blinked, then grinned.
“So much for your theory about attraction,” he said.
“And I was just thinking that you’ve been without a woman too long to kiss so heavy-handed,” she replied, turning back to the boxes.
He refused to be baited. “I don’t know, Catherine. My tonsils could tell a few tales about that kiss.”
Her cheeks pinkened, and she rummaged more diligently through the boxes.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asked. “I’d be happy to find it again.”
“Why don’t you go see your friend in there, the smiling chimpanzee in heat …” Her voice trailed away, and she began to claw frantically around the items in the boxes. “It’s not here!”
“What’s not here?” he asked, watching as she literally tossed things onto the BMW’s hood.
“The codicil!” she exclaimed, then froze. “Never mind.”
He stared at her. “Codicil? What codicil? What are you talking about, Catherine?”
Her jaw squared stubbornly, then she made a face and sighed. “My grandfather’s codicil to his will.”
“Allan had a codicil?”
“Yes.”
“But why don’t the lawyers have it? The will was read months ago.”
She glared at him. “I know that, and I don’t know why the lawyers don’t have it. He must have put it aside or something, meaning to file it with his own people—”
“How do you even know there is one?” he asked dubiously.
“Because your grandmother’s seen it,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. My grandfather had a huge parcel of land in Utah he wanted preserved. He didn’t put it into trust. If I don’t find the codicil, it will be strip-mined.”
“Yes, I know,” Miles said, remembering the original plans from several years ago. “But Allan wanted that—”
“No, he didn’t,” Catherine said vehemently. “The family knows he wanted that land to become a preserve, but they refuse to do it because it wasn’t specified in the will. Wagner Oil wiped out an entire species of sea turtles in that Gulf of Mexico oil spill. Remember the headlines? Not to mention what it did to hundreds of miles of breeding beds and beaches. The destruction changed my grandfather. He never wanted to see such a thing happen again.”
“I remember the spill very well,” Miles said. “Allan insisted Wagner Oil pay for the entire cleanup. It cost the corporation tens of millions of dollars that year.”
She suddenly went very still, and he frowned at the abrupt chill in the air. “Catherine?”
“Thank you for reminding me, Miles. I had forgotten.” She picked up the framed picture of her and her grandfather. “I’d forgotten a lot of things. And thank you for the dinner. It was delicious.”
She walked out of the garage.
Catherine watched for the slightest movement to indicate the guards making their rounds. They shouldn’t be, but her heart pounded fiercely with every passing second, and her fingers tightened around the bedsheets in a death grip.
She had decided not to do this that night … until Miles had reminded her of who and what she really was. Damn him, she thought. He had given her a kiss that shook her to her toes, then he’d calmly talked about millions of dollars in losses. She had thought for one moment of kindness that he had changed. Now she knew better. Miles Kitteridge would always care about the almighty dollar before anything else. He certainly hadn’t cared about a commitment she’d made to another man. He’d thought it a joke then, and he thought it now.
No integrity.
But she would never forget that night. It had turned her life into a shambles. At the time, she’d been engaged to a man she’d met at law school. After graduation they decided to open a legal aid office for the disadvantaged. Of course, they’d need her money to finance it, but it would be a partnership. He passed the bar exam the first time, but she flunked twice. The next exam was just three weeks before the wedding. The pressure had been tremendous, and not wanting to overstudy the night before the exam, she went to a friend’s party.
Miles had cornered her there. He had touched her hair, her cheek, her shoulder, keeping only a scant inch of air between them in a way that enticed her unbearably. Perhaps she’d always had a bit of a crush on him, and for a few minutes she’d enjoyed the idea that he was attracted to her too. And then he’d lightly kissed her and suggested they leave together. The worst part was, she had wanted to desperately. Somehow she’d resisted, somehow she had gotten away, though not with any finesse.
He had thrown her so completely, she’d gone into the bar exam with him looming in her mind, breaking her concentration. She’d had the worst score recorded in twenty years of testing. Her fiancé had called off the wedding, not wanting to be a “kept man,” even until the next test. The man had been obnoxiously noble.
Miles had ruined her nice, neatly planned life. She hadn’t bothered to try to pass the bar again, but had accepted her grandfather’s offer to work in the research and development department at Wagner Oil. A year ago she’d been granted a seat on the board of directors. And that had been when she really began taking charge of her life again. At last she had a cause worth fighting for. If only she could find that damn codicil.
She wished she’d never said a word about it to Miles. She had a pretty good idea that if he found it, it would stay hidden.
She shook off the distressing thought. If her family wouldn�
��t honor the codicil on their own, she’d just have to help them along. Tonight was the first in a series of missions to do just that.
And she’d better get started before she chickened out.
Finally satisfied that no guards were checking this area of the Wagner Oil refinery plant, she crept out of her hiding place, keeping to the dark shadows as much as possible. There weren’t many. Floodlights illuminated nearly every cranny of the plant inside the fence and at least two hundred feet on the outside. Cars zoomed noisily above her on the Route 95 freeway. Even at five in the morning, the road sounded busy. She just hoped nobody noticed her for the next few minutes.
Taking a last deep breath and clutching one sheet to her, she raced across the open lighted space to the eight-foot-high fence. The barbed wire surrounding the top was not a deterrent. It was a help. She clambered up the fence as best she could and hooked one end of the sheet to the barbs, then leaped down and climbed up to hook the other end. The sheet unfurled in all its glory.
She raced back to her hiding spot and grabbed another sheet. After checking the grounds again, she repeated the process until there were four sheets lined up on the fence, their declarations visible to every car on the freeway.
Catherine breathed a sigh of relief when she reached her car and slipped inside. She started the little Sunbird and took off. When she was safe on one of the back streets of South Philadelphia, she grinned.
Earth Angel had struck. And right on time for rush hour.
Two
“Dammit! Who the hell is this Earth Angel?”
Byrne Wagner pounded his meaty hands on the wood table in Wagner Corporation’s conference room to emphasize his question. Miles winced at the heavy blows, surprised Byrne hadn’t marred the finish.
Catherine, who was seated across the table from Miles, shrugged. “Who knows? The press is clamoring for an answer to those signs, Uncle Byrne. Ted Koppel’s called twice.”
Out of all the Wagner directors called in for the emergency meeting, Miles thought, only she was calm. The rest were red faced with anger and nearly sweating with anxiety.
Byrne’s face turned even darker. “We’re not answering the press on a nut who hangs a bunch of bedsheets on our refinery plant’s fence!”
Catherine smiled sweetly. “Can I quote you on that when I tell them ‘No comment’?”
“You won’t say a damn word, girl!”
Her smile never faltered. “I suggest somebody say something. Otherwise we’ll be accused of stonewalling in every major city newspaper.”
“Catherine’s right,” Miles said. She stared at him, her eyes wide. He grinned, enjoying her astonishment at his agreeing with her. “That sign was pretty specific in its accusation,” he went on, looking around the conference table. “The swifter and smoother our response, the less credence we’ll give to the Earth Angel, whoever the nut actually is.”
His gaze returned to Catherine. He admired her cool response to the crisis, even as he admired the way her wraparound blouse draped across her perfect breasts. How he would love to undo those buttons at the waist slowly and sensually, allowing the material to fall open … or feel it rip apart under his hands in a frenzy of lust.
That was the problem with Catherine, he thought. Both scenarios appealed mightily. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time for it. Besides, she’d been upset with him last night and he wasn’t certain why. Was it that kiss? He could still taste the sweetness of her mouth, unique and made for him. He had a feeling that that was only part of her anger, though. At least this Earth Angel business gave him an opportunity to find out.
Miles grimaced at the thought of that environmental crazy. He had been dragged out of bed at six that morning by a frantic phone call from Byrne, insisting he attend this emergency meeting. By virtue of Philadelphia National’s financial entanglements with Wagner Oil, he had a seat on the board of directors. Sometime during the night, Byrne told him, someone had hung a homemade sign on their fence. A very big sign that declared to every car on 95: WARNING! WAGNER OIL IS KILLING YOU BY DUMPING TOXIC WASTES INTO YOUR DRINKING WATER. STOP BUYING WAGNER OIL AND STOP KILLING YOURSELF TODAY!
Byrne was in a panic, and so was everyone else. Miles had to admit it wasn’t the best way to start a morning. Nut or not, if this wasn’t handled exactly right, it could explode in Wagner’s corporate face.
“I don’t see why we have to answer this outrageous allegation,” Byrne said stubbornly.
“Because this company is responsible for the worst oil spill the world has ever seen,” Catherine said.
“That just makes us an easy target,” her father, Gerald, replied. “It’s a ridiculous accusation, Catherine. I just saw a report on TV that the Delaware River is healthier than it’s ever been. So how can we be polluting it?”
Miles raised his eyebrows at Gerald’s lack of support for his own daughter. Catherine wasn’t just the cool one, she was the only one making sense. The corporation needed to respond.
The door burst open, and one of the vice presidents rushed in. “The EPA just called! It’s going to test the Delaware and Schukyll rivers around the plant for violations!”
Everyone groaned.
“Is there any truth to the accusation?” Sylvia asked. She was Byrne and Gerald’s younger sister.
Byrne took a swig out of the antacid bottle by his side, then said, “Of course not!”
“We better hope not,” Catherine said. “Has anybody checked this morning to make sure we’re not leaking crude or by-products?”
Dead silence answered her.
“Have we checked any morning in recent history?” she asked in the driest of tones.
“Well … of course we check the system,” Byrne sputtered.
Miles got a bad feeling as he watched the man glower like a frustrated bull about to charge. It was the same kind of feeling he always had right before the dollar took a nosedive on the foreign exchanges. It wasn’t hard to see why. Allan’s response to the oil spill had been swift and responsible, and because of that, the company hadn’t lost credibility with the public. Sure, it had lost money on the cleanup, but they’d regained the profit structure, and more, the next year. Byrne was about to bungle this one, though.
“We must begin more stringent measures,” Catherine said. “We need to turn the fleet toward double-hulled ships, stop strip-mining, explore other energy resources—”
Everyone groaned again. Miles had a vision of loans and more loans to finance the projects. Loans with big interest rates. Catherine was not only stunning, she was a banker’s dream.
“This company had better take a reality check,” she said, rising to her feet. “If there’s twenty years left of fossil fuels, we’ll be damn lucky.”
Voices shouted her down.
“We’re not here to talk about the future,” Byrne said. “We’re here to talk about how we’re not going to respond to some nut. All in favor?”
“Now, wait a minute,” Miles exclaimed, realizing Byrne was ramming a vote through.
“Aye!” most of the family called in loud, adamant voices.
“No!” Catherine snapped, her eyes blazing with anger.
She walked out.
Miles watched her go, her slim skirt tight against her hips and thighs. Nobody made an exit better than Catherine.
Catherine shut her office door and finally allowed herself to chuckle.
She’d never enjoyed herself more at a Wagner board meeting, although she had gotten angry at the end. She’d had this argument with them in the past, so their response wasn’t new. Neither was hers.
Earth Angel had certainly stirred them into a frenzy, though. That was a sight to behold, and well worth the risk of putting up that sign. Her uncle had been spitting nails. And well he should, she thought. He knew they were “leaking” toxic by-products into the Delaware, because they did it from midnight to two A.M. every night. The plant manager had been suspiciously absent from the meeting this morning, and she wished she hadn’t lost her temp
er before she’d been able to ask where he was. She would have loved to hear her uncle’s answer.
She sat down at her desk, empty as usual, thanks to her uncle. The less the board members knew, the better, was his theory. Most of them liked it that way too. At least Earth Angel had gotten one of them thinking. Bless Aunt Sylvia for questioning her brother. Catherine wondered if she might actually get her aunt’s support in the future. That would be a major miracle.
Reluctantly she acknowledged she had support already from a very unexpected source. She’d nearly fallen out of her chair when Miles had backed her up about the press. Why had he done it? He never did anything unless he had something to gain, so what did he expect to gain?
She didn’t know, and that worried her. Miles worried her in more ways than she cared to admit. Only by sheer willpower had she kept her composure while sitting across from him. She could still taste last night’s kiss, still feel the desire that had surged through her. Her gaze had kept wandering to him during the meeting, and she had to admit he looked good enough to make the cover of GQ.
Despite the argument swirling around, she’d been obsessed with wondering whether he wore a T-shirt under his white silk shirt. There had been a dark shadow on his chest, barely discernible but there. She had wanted desperately to unbutton the shirt and discover whether he had hair on his chest or not. Would it be silky or curly? She would have to run her palms across his flesh to find out …
She pushed away the dangerous thought. Miles’s support of her meant nothing. He simply knew it was more advantageous to talk to the press than avoid them. He wasn’t stupid.
Her office door swung open with a bang, and Miles himself strolled in like he owned the place. Her jaw dropped in astonishment.
“Since you barged into my office,” he said, grinning at her, “I felt it only fair to return the favor.”
“There isn’t any secretary here to try to stop you,” she commented, regaining her composure.
“True.” He shut the door behind him. “Why don’t you have one?”
