My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga)

by Tamela Quijas

He scowled at he focused on her. “You have those on hand when he arrives, do you hear me?”

  Kate nodded, scrawling his dictate on the tablet she held. She stifled a relieved sigh, knowing the necessary files were available. There was one thing bothering her and, with a bravado she scarcely realized she had, Kate cleared her throat.

  “Did Duncan arrive alone?”

  Moring hesitated in slackening his necktie, his gaze flickering to the posters praising office cooperation and customer service.

  “Of all the damn luck, he brought Burroughs!”

  “Burroughs?” She inquired blankly.

  “Dante Burroughs.” He snarled, his face contorting.

  Kate sensed the dread evident in his mumbled words and bit her lower lip. She was determined to discover if Grace's choice morsel of gossip was closer to the actual truth. “Who is Burroughs?”

  “He’s the goddamn name and money behind this operation. Burroughs is none other than the haughty owner of the corporation!” He mouthed before swinging his chair about and dismissed her.

  ***

  The doorway to Moring's office was shut when Kate returned from the front offices. Bearing an armload of correspondence marked incoming, she glanced towards the triangular window of the closed door, faintly detecting the indistinct murmur of male voices.

  Kate hurried to the mail slots and separated the mail, placing each envelope in the tagged receptacles. Her arms were full of folders when a familiar head popped around the corner.

  “You missed it!” Amelia's laugh was hushed, and she pushed her drooping eyeglasses to the bridge of her nose with the tip of her forefinger. Kate paused in her sorting of the mail and smiled.

  Casually attired in a nondescript polo shirt, Amelia wore faded jeans and a pale gray lab coat emblazoned with her name. Often, she spent more time on the grime-covered shop floor than in the offices, pulling wiring samples from the numerous molding and die machines. Despite her studious nature, she carried a zestful and exuberant streak.

  “Missed what?” Kate questioned, her eyebrows rising.

  “You went on that mail run at the worst possible time.” She breathed excitedly, placing her hand on her forehead and feigning a swoon. “The most delicious piece of meat came through those doors, right past your desk!”

  “Mell, you say the same thing about the delivery boy from the pizza joint.” Kate stifled a chuckle at the over-dramatics. “Better yet, I remember the contractor from the fencing company…”

  “Oh, no,” Amelia broke in, her hands fanning the air. “This guy would have sent you over the edge, Miss Prim and Proper.”

  The comment lacked insult but, all the same, Kate colored. “Really?”

  “Damn, he made the guys in the shop look small.”

  It didn't take much for her to determine who sent the wire technician into such an obvious fluster. “Did Burroughs arrive?”

  “Burroughs?”

  “He’s the owner of the company.” Kate supplied simply.

  “Honestly, I don't know who he was; he might be this Burroughs guy. He did seem more interested in the molds in the shop.” Amelia shrugged and her eyes twinkled before her voice dropped to a whisper. “Duncan and MacLean were trailing after him like puppies.”

  “Amelia, you’re beginning to remind me of Grace.” Kate pointed out, stifling her chuckle as the woman reeled in mock horror.

  “This isn't vicious gossip, Kate!” She muttered, although her eyes twinkled behind thick lenses. “I saw everything from the terminal racks!”

  Secluded along the yellow striped lines indicating the safety zone for pedestrians in the warehouse, the racks were located near the office entryway. The shelving units contained thousands of returned and obsolete molding and die forms, stored for future use or refurbishment. As tall as the racks were, one could watch visitors and coworkers with relative ease, normally hidden from view from the unsuspecting.

  “Fine,” Kate grumbled. “I imagine it might be Burroughs.”

  “Whoever he is, he's close to seven feet tall and built like a damn body builder.” Amelia sighed deeply. “It’s the first time I saw the witch relax the sour look on her face.”

  Kate stifled her chuckle of amusement. Grace was the witch and Amelia was correct---if not spreading gossip, Grace did have the sourest look. “So, he's received a seal of approval from you?”

  “Honey, this man filled his business suit like he was poured into every inch! Oh, and he smelled like a god.” Mell continued to gush, her eyes drifting ecstatically upwards. “Like I said, he didn't speak to us but who cares?” She shrugged to her own question. “Just to look at this guy explains why his face isn't on the company logo or advertisements. I'd buy the damn car just to get a chance to look him over!”

  “Did he look that good?”

  The wiring technician was about to continue her enthusiastic praise when the door to Moring's office flew wide, and she vanished as quickly as she appeared. Her employer's balding head appeared from around the corner of the door and, if his expression was anything to go by, he was searching for her.

  “Bennett!” Moring scowled and approached her, appearing unrelieved by her presence. The door to his office remained ajar and she could see three figures inside the brightly lit confines. “Burroughs wants last year's numbers and reports, immediately!”

  She gave him a curt nod and went to her desk. Arranging the pile of inter-office correspondence by her computer, Kate removed a set of labeled keys from her desk. She unlocked the adjacent file cabinet and swiftly scanned the hanging folders. As she grasped the files, Moring forced his way past her. His pudgy hand flew out, sending paperwork flying across the linoleum floor.

  “Damn it, woman!” Moring swore loudly, his voice echoing and Kate's face flamed as she crouched to retrieve the documents. “Can't you do a fucking thing right? You're my secretary, my receptionist! Half the time, you're either late with the paperwork, or dropping the shit on the floor.”

  Moring's insults were unnecessary, his crudeness brought on by agitation. Kate's scalp tingled and ears burnt as she gathered the fallen papers, scarcely hearing the audible clearing of a man's throat from within the office. She remained focused on the reports, her hands shaking and her eyes brimming with tears.

  Vainly, Kate tried to read the printed dates and numbers heading each page of the reports. Her head shamefully lowered and her hair a concealing wave about her burning face, she was unprepared as a pair of costly footwear appeared within her view. Still unleashing his violent tirade, Moring was shoved aside as an unfamiliar male figure dropped to his haunches alongside her.

  The man at her side had to be the illustrious Mr. Burroughs.

  Kate's vision swam and, to her horror, the threat of tears grew. She knew every office employee followed the incident from around the corner of their cubicles, some snickering with pleasure while others shook their heads in pity. In an effort to the quivering of her lips, she bit down hard on her lower lip.

  A pair of deeply tanned hands reached for the scattered reports, gathering the fallen pages into a tidy pile. The numerous pages were placed into numerical order, and pressed into her shaky hands. Kate closed her eyes, mortified as tears poured onto her cheeks. She was grateful her back remained to the partition, her humiliation hid.

  The unaccustomed warmth of a calloused hand angled the tip of her quivering chin upwards. Abruptly, her watery eyes flew open, the thick lashes spiked with salty drops. The light pressure of his thumb stroked the tears from her face, and the most subtle coffee scented breath grazed her face.

  “I….I must apologize, Mr. Burroughs.” Kate faltered, whisking her palm across her cheek.

  The pressure of his hand persisted and he didn't attempt to rise. Instead, he remained curiously silent, his breath caressing her face. Kate blinked, attempting to clear her vision.

  At first, she was blinded, his face blurred by his closeness. Dante Burroughs was younger than she assumed, having expected a far older man. Curious, sh
e examined his face, noticing he was extremely pale beneath his dark tan. His forehead was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and a vein pulsed furiously in his lean cheek.

  Staring into her eyes, he blinked in bewilderment.

  Kate's mind, still lurching with Moring's rebukes, went blank. Dante Burroughs continued to stare at her, a slow smile curving his mouth and disclosing blindingly white teeth. His lips were luscious, she thought and the question of their taste filtered into her subconscious.

  His nose was long, sporting two unmistakable bumps from long ago breaks. Instead of distracting from the man's amazing looks, it dealt him a semblance of humanity. Otherwise, she mused, his features were those of a precisely carved statue. Vaguely, she thought he was far too perfect and beautiful. Understanding she was watching him, dissecting his every feature, his nostrils flared as he struggled to recover his composure. Kate was baffled as a weak chuckle escaped him.

  Immediately, her attention lifted to his eyes.

  She gaped, captivated, the bright orbs glowing with intense puzzlement and pleasure. Crowded by a mass of ridiculously abundant and nearly feminine lashes, she was disoriented by the intensity of the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

  Beautiful eyes, Kate mused, knowing she could drown in their startling depths. She blinked, attempting to clear her thoughts, her dazed attention drawn to his thick hair. Virtually blue-black, with temples highlighted with silvery threads, it hung in thick waves that brushed his broad shoulders. She imagined him to be in his mid to late thirties, moderately young for the powerful position he held.

  Kate inhaled deeply, more to brace herself, and then regretted the action. Dante Burroughs did smell delicious, she thought, drawing his scent deep into her lungs. She wanted to lean into the man and press her face to the firm curve of his neck, savoring the smell of his flesh.

  “How many years have you been in my employ, madam?”

  He mouthed his question in a startlingly low-pitched tone. He had a dauntingly deep voice, one he purposely lowered to a near whisper. Kate shivered as the words swirled about her, warming her to the very depths of her soul.

  “F….Five years,” she stammered, devastated as his hand left her chin. He seized gentle hold of her forearm and helped her to her feet.

  As she rose, Kate realized he was a colossally tall, and her head craned back as she stared upwards. Vaguely, she thought he was tremendous in proportion and muscular. There was a prominence of undulating sinews evident beneath his silk shirt, the expensive fabric straining at the seams as he stifled a tremor. Kate focused on the colorful red silk of his tie, fervently willing her heart to slow.

  “I've been with the company for five years.”

  Dante longed to laugh aloud at the irony of the situation as he steadied her, the top of her brightly hued head scarcely reaching the region of his heart. She had been with him for five years and at his bloody damn fingertips. The woman was here all along, in his employ, as his ancestors had employed Kaitlyn. He considered it a savage twist of fate, how destiny repeated itself.

  “Five of the worst, most incompetent….” Moring began in a loud voice.

  Kate's face flamed and an uneasy familiarity gnawed at her. She knew this giant but couldn't remember from where. It wasn't possible, she scoffed. How could she forget a man who commanded immediate attention the instant he walked into a room? She lifted her dewy eyes and wondered about the damnable half-smile on his lips.

  “Good morning,” he murmured in his whiskey soft voice, ignoring Moring's increasing tirade. A dimple appeared deep in his cheek as he repeated his greeting. “Good morning, sweet Kate.”

  “Sir,” she responded, clutching the folders close to her chest. Her boss's voice resounded in the distance, his words falling on deaf ears. She felt lost in time, the world disappearing. Her heart thumped in her ears, the heat filling her face having nothing to do with embarrassment. A warming sensation flooded her, and her legs went numb and threatening to buckle.

  “Ah, sweet Kate.”

  The purring pronouncement of her name was nearly lost as Moring spoke more loudly and drove the smile from the man's face. He frowned darkly, his gaze remaining on her.

  “Moring, you forget who I am. As proprietor, I don't condone the defamation of my employees.” Burroughs' voice rose from the seductively smoky tones and became a deep, rich baritone. Each careful word ricocheted off the prefabricated walls of the office and dripped with censure.

  “See here, Burroughs!” Moring sputtered angrily, ignoring the discouraging side-glance Duncan Forsythe dealt him. The manager for the Phoenix offices, Devon MacLean, lowered his flaming face.

  Reluctantly, the Englishman released Kate's arm. Fluidly, with a grace Kate believed impossible for a man of his size, Burroughs turned toward her boss. Presented a view of his solid back, she retreated a few steps and crumpled into her chair.

  “Moring,” he continued, his unruffled British accent intensifying. “You may consider yourself terminated.”

  “Why?”

  “There isn't a why to the subject, Moring.” Devon broke in.

  “Precisely,” Duncan Forsythe added. “You've demonstrated shoddy managerial abilities and placed the name and reputation of BAI in jeopardy.”

  “If you're want to fire someone,” Moring shouted, his pudgy finger pointing at his receptionist. “You should be firing her.”

  Burroughs turned to his associate. “Duncan, can you vouch for the woman?”

  “Ms. Bennett is an excellent secretary. I do hope she'll not consider registering a harassment complaint against BAI.” Duncan gave Kate a tight smile. “She's an excellent employee, Dante, with great potential for advancement.”

  Burroughs turned to examine Kate's seated form. After hearing Duncan's compliment, Kate lifted her hot face to the figure standing before her. Slowly, her eyes journeyed up his towering body before resting on his face. She was rewarded with the cocking of a dark winged brow before he turned his attention to Moring.

  “There won't be any referrals issued from my desk, Moring. You're finished.”

  “You can't do this to me!”

  “I have, if you failed to notice.” Dante Burroughs' colossal form stepped into the managerial office. He retrieved his discarded jacket and slipped it over his arm. Menacingly, he frowned at the still-hovering Moring. “Shall I summon security to have you removed?”

  “No,” Moring grumbled rebelliously, gesturing toward his former office space. “I have to get my stuff.”

  “Duncan, Devon, tend to this,” he instructed, his meaning apparent before he returned his attention to Kate. “Madam?”

  Kate was in a daze, bewildered by the events. “Sir?”

  Burroughs bent over her, the costly material of his jacket a blur, his scent overwhelming. “I'll review the reports this evening, madam. Any questions I may have, we'll discuss in the morning.”

  Chapter Three

  The days ran smoothly and the employees sensed the change that, previously, hadn't been evident. Burroughs commandeered the small warehouse office, and the lack of luxury appeared not to disturb him. Granted, he stooped to enter the doorway and his solidness overwhelmed the cramped confines, but he never showed displeasure.

  Systematically arriving hours before the first employees, Burroughs analyzed the reports of the past few years, beginning with Moring's appointment as office manager. Often, he was lost in conversation with Duncan Forsythe, behind closed doors. Technicians, from time to time, made a beeline for the office. Anxious, equipment in hands and questions on their lips, they waited. They were always warmly welcomed into the inner confines. Surprising, the Englishman was knowledgeable of the molding, die equipment, and heeded grievances before offering a solution. He captured the respect of the office and the shop with ease, providing valuable insight the previous manager lacked.

  As for Kate, she scarcely addressed her new manager, except for exchanging morning greetings. Burroughs responded in kind, only speaking when searching for a
report or a telephone number. Every request he delivered in the same husky tones that sent tingling quivers down her spine.

  While she couldn't deny the physical attraction, Kate didn't know what it was that preoccupied her. Perhaps it was his undeniable masculinity, his suave voice, or those exquisite blue eyes. There was an increasing mass of captivated females lingering about the office, craving the manager's attention, and Kate didn't want to become one of a long list of admirers.

  While engrossed with her thoughts, the office door opened and Kate spun about in her chair with a guilty jerk. Duncan afforded her his habitual impish smile, lounging easily on the doorframe. He was an unconventional person, business-like but amicable, a scant few years from retirement.

  “Busy, girl?” He questioned, his eyebrows vanishing in a mass of wiry gray hair. Duncan didn't wait for a response and jutted his chin in the direction of the office. “He wants to speak with you.”

  Kate nodded and rose, smoothing the long skirt of her dress over her slender legs. Notepad and pen in hand, she watched as Duncan nodded to Burroughs, a silent message appearing to pass between them. He stepped aside as Kate neared, graciously permitting her access to the room.

  Audibly clearing of his throat, Duncan muttered some muddled excuse that failed to register before closing the door behind him. Kate waited, pen in hand, stifling her nervousness.

  “Please be seated, Madam.” Burroughs commanded distractedly, his dark head bent over a monolithic batch of reports littered across desktop. Scanning the numbers, he never looked up as his pencil flew across the papers, tallying numbers and scribbled footnotes.

  Kate sank into the available chair. Her gaze moved about the familiar office, noting he hadn't removed anything. The sole addition was a silver framed photograph in the far corner of the desk, where the image of a strikingly beautiful woman smiled brilliantly. She examined the photograph, deciding the dark haired woman was Burroughs' daughter or sister.

  “My daughter, Anne.” Dante Burroughs provided without glancing up.