Come Up and See Me Sometime

by Lucy Monroe

  Brad had worked some weekends, but Isabel had convinced herself that an occasional weekend at work wasn't the end of a relationship. Learning that those weekends were spent working at something other than his job had proved Isabel wrong.

  His efforts at keeping his female boss satisfied sexually had definitely put a damper on his and Isabel's relationship.

  She pushed the memories away with a mental shove strong enough to send them out of her head and into the next universe.

  Tonight was about Alex and what she would be watching for in his behavior and speech. Just like an employee interview.

  She grimaced as she considered the next level of requirements. Assuming a man passed Level One and Level Two, he still had to show an aptitude for the extremely important Level Three: 'interpersonal relationships'—her own particular Waterloo.

  The first item on her list was physical compatibility. This wasn't about the way a man looked, but rather how she responded to him on a wholly physical level. Something she'd dismissed before as unimportant. Not so. If she had listened to her body when her ex kissed her, she would have stopped dating him long before the embarrassing experience of walking in on him with another woman.

  His touch had been pleasant but nothing more. She wasn't looking for fireworks and overwhelming passion, but she wanted something more than pleasant. She wanted at least a spark of desire, something that would tempt her to give herself completely to a man.

  She'd only risked that kind of vulnerability once and that was another memory she did not want to dwell on.

  No doubt a psychoanalyst would have a heyday with her current situation. She wanted a family badly enough to search for a husband, but did not want to risk letting down her emotional barriers in order to make love to a man. She hadn't with Brad, but then she hadn't wanted him, either.

  The deeply religious Nanny Number Seven had told her that intimacy with a man was meant for marriage and a woman gave bits of herself away when she made love, so Isabel should be very careful who she gave those bits to. The advice had had a huge impact on a young woman who had already experienced a lot of pain from opening herself to others.

  When her peers had started experimenting sexually in high school and later in college, she had simply not been interested. No one had ever affected her enough to make her want to go against Nanny Number Seven's advice. Well, almost no one, and she wasn't sure that counted.

  Sometimes she wondered whether she was capable of the kind of sexual response necessary to fuel the passionate side of a relationship. If that was true, she didn't know how she would ever have the family she craved.

  Relegating the disturbing doubts to the furthest recesses of her mind, she finished applying her makeup.

  * * *

  Alex's black Aston Martin rolled forward as the traffic control light for the entrance onto Hwy 26 briefly turned green and then red again. He resigned himself to taking as long to merge onto the freeway as it had taken him to travel from his house to the on-ramp.

  When he had bought the place, which he also planned to use as the base for CIS, he'd decided he wanted to be where the majority of the electronic firms in Oregon were located. That meant moving west of Portland to what many termed Little Silicon Valley.

  Not so little—hundreds of electronic firms, including several sites for the biggest chip manufacturer in the world, made their homes within a fifteen-mile radius of Alex's strategic location.

  His small farm had a Portland address, but was closer to Beaverton than to Portland's city center. And every time he walked into the barn, which had been remodeled into modern office space, he felt a measure of satisfaction. It belonged to him, as did the farmhouse he was renovating in his spare time.

  Considering the romantic décor of Isabel's small office, he guessed she would appreciate his desire to strip the wood moldings of their paint and varnish them with a natural, clean finish. Not that she would ever see his farmhouse or his offices.

  Once he knew who wanted to hire Marcus, Alex would not see her again, period.

  She deserved that much consideration. It wouldn't be fair to build a friendship with her that would undoubtedly end in recriminations and anger once his role in St. Clair's hostile takeover of Hypertron became known. The thought irritated him and he pushed it away.

  St. Clair's plans for Hypertron had nothing to do with Isabel, and although they were the culmination of Alex's desires, he could not be blamed for the mess Harrison was shortly going to find himself in. Alex hadn't made the decisions that put Hypertron in such a vulnerable place to take over.

  No, that had been John Harrison himself, the same man responsible for Alex's father's death.

  Shifting the Aston Martin into gear, he accelerated onto the highway, immediately transferring into the left lane as he continued to accelerate. A quick glance at the digital numbers of the clock on his dash confirmed that he was right on time. No need to rush, but he didn't ease his foot off the accelerator. Soon he would be at Isabel's condo.

  Would she wear another business suit to dinner, or would she dress in something more feminine? He knew she was leery of him. He'd seen it in her eyes in her office that morning.

  What the hell was he thinking? He and Isabel Harrison had no future. They had no relationship. He would be a fool to try to take them beyond anything more than a surface involvement. His words reminding Isabel that they technically did not have a business association came back to haunt him.

  Was she going to expect romance? Perhaps asking her out had not been the most effective way to get the information he needed. It had seemed like an expedient plan at the time, but now he could imagine countless complications.

  Unwanted complications.

  He said a word that he reserved for severe frustration. He was not used to being unsure of his judgment, and his doubts were unnerving. As unnerving as the anticipation he felt at seeing Isabel again. She was the daughter of his sworn enemy, and yet he couldn't get the image of her sweet smile and clear green eyes out of his head.

  * * *

  Alex rang the doorbell at Isabel's condo, unaccountably irritated that she chose to live in an unsecured building. Didn't she realize how many dangers a single woman faced when living alone?

  The door swung open and Alex's curiosity about Isabel's attire was answered. Her shimmery black dress with spaghetti straps clung in all the right places, covering about as much of her legs as would an oversized T-shirt. Her feet looked sexy as hell in a pair of black satin shoes with three-inch spiked heels.

  Alex's body reacted like a teenager on an overload of hormones. "Don't you think you will be a little cold in that?"

  This wasn't exactly southern California. And although it was still early fall and an Indian summer made for warm days, the nights were plenty chilly.

  Her smile faltered and her face took on a decidedly cool cast. "I have a jacket. I'll be fine."

  Was her jacket going to cover the long expanse of exposed legs? He doubted it. "Where is it?"

  "In the living room." She pivoted on her heel. "I'll get it."

  He followed her inside, closing the door behind him.

  She stopped in the living room when she realized he'd followed her. "Would you like a drink before we go?"

  A drink sounded good—anything to get his raging libido under control. Too bad they didn't have time. "We have reservations in half an hour. We should leave in case we hit traffic going into downtown."

  She nodded and grabbed a little jacket off the arm of her white leather sofa. The entire room was done in white and shades of light brown. Beige, his mother would have called it.

  He stepped forward to help her. She gave him a startled look, but allowed him to adjust the stiffened black silk across her shoulders. She'd pulled her honey-brown hair into a twist again, leaving the tantalizing, womanly column of her neck exposed. It took tremendous willpower not to brush it with his fingers.

  If he didn't do something fast, he was going to lose objectivity in this inform
ation-gathering expedition.

  He refused to think of it as a date. The word was rife with too many unwanted possibilities. He took a hasty step away from Isabel and out of temptation's way. It didn't help. Her fragrance, some kind of flowers, reached out and wrapped itself around his senses so that he might as well have been holding her in his arms.

  She turned and faced him, giving him a tentative smile. "Ready."

  She didn't look ready. The tiny jacket looked no warmer than her sexy little dress and both did more to accentuate the high curve of her full breasts than to disguise them.

  He was glad the heater was already warmed up in the Aston Martin. He hoped he could find a parking spot close to the restaurant. He didn't want her walking outside in such flimsy clothes, and he wasn't about to tempt fate by putting his arm around her to keep her warm.

  "We'd better get going, then," he said.

  * * *

  Isabel allowed Alex to push her chair in for her and wondered how to deal with schizophrenic courtesy when it came to her requirements for a potential mate.

  Alex had insulted her dress upon arriving at her door, then helped her into her jacket as if the small act of courtesy came as natural to him as breathing. Upon leaving, he had lectured her on security and been appalled to learn that she rarely remembered to check the peephole before opening her door. He had then held the car door open for her to get in and had come around to open it for her once they reached the restaurant.

  He certainly had good taste in restaurants.

  He'd made reservations at one of her favorites, the dining room in the Heathman Hotel. She loved the ambiance of the restored hotel and could feel the history in the room, even sitting in a canvas director-style chair that was more appropriate for Hollywood. She wasn't going to get sidetracked by her surroundings, though. She had a real dilemma. Did she mark Alex down as an inconsiderate jerk or a polite charmer?

  She covertly studied him over the top of her menu as the waiter recited that night's specials to them. Alex had changed from his business suit of the morning into a pair of charcoal gray slacks and a raw-silk shirt in the same shade. The top two buttons were undone, revealing curling black chest hair. Sexy. Definitely sexy and dangerous.

  He ordered a bottle of white wine without consulting her. Typical male arrogance or old-fashioned courtesy?

  The waiter left and she put down her menu. "I can't decide."

  "Try the salmon almondine. It's very good."

  She played with the stem of her water glass. "That's not what I meant. I'm going to have the Chef's Special. I like eating things that aren't on the menu."

  "Entrees that make it to the menu are ones that other customers have liked well enough to order over and over," he replied, as if explaining an important concept to her.

  "I'm not interested in following the pack. I like to try new things."

  "That's a good way to end up burned. I prefer calculated risks." He set down his menu and took a sip of water.

  "I imagine you do. After all, you are in the business of gathering information so that others can minimize their risks and calculate their odds of winning."

  He considered her a moment before answering, his intent scrutiny sending warm shivers through her. "Marcus says that we're hunters."

  "But hunters are predators. You just supply the information." She didn't understand how the term applied to what CIS provided.

  Alex shrugged. "It's both the method and the product that defines what we do."

  His words sent a sharp sense of unease through her. He was right. She didn't know anything about his methods. Were they honest? Somehow, she couldn't imagine them not being, and yet there was a ruthlessness about him, a throwback gene that she could not deny.

  "I have to admit that before you came into my office, I had pictured you as the scholarly type." How wrong could you get?

  Alex was a lot more like a panther than a professor.

  "The scholarly type." He said the words as if tasting them for flavor. "What does that mean?"

  She waved her hand airily, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut for once. "You know, someone who spends a lot of time in libraries or in front of a computer screen. Sort of nerdy, maybe."

  "How do you see me now?"

  As a predator. She almost blurted the words out, but managed to hold them in check. "You aren't nerdy at all. My office mate called you Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous."

  He didn't smile at her small joke, but eyed her with a sort of bleakness she didn't understand. "Do you think I'm dangerous to you, Isabel?"

  The waiter appeared with their wine before she could answer.

  "Well?" Alex said as soon as they were once again alone, "Do you think I'm a dangerous man?"

  He wasn't going to let it drop.

  "I'm not sure what to think about you," she blurted out in all honesty.

  He considered her words and his wine before raising his Hershey-chocolate eyes to fix her with a questioning gaze. "Is that what you meant earlier when you said you couldn't decide?"

  She played their conversation back through her mind and remembered her comment. "Yes. In a way. To be honest, you aren't a man easily cataloged."

  "I would think that wouldn't bother a risk taker like you."

  "Risk taker?"

  "Yes."

  "Why do you say that?" She wasn't like that at all.

  He didn't quite smile, but she sensed that he was amused. "You work in a job that puts you on the receiving end of some pretty irate customers—"

  "My clients are all very happy with my performance," she interrupted.

  He waved that aside. "I was using the word customer loosely. I meant others like me, who don't like knowing that you've gone after one of their employees."

  Was he still angry about that? "Oh."

  "You live alone in an unsecured community."

  She gave a soft laugh. "This may surprise you, but I'm one of several single women that own condos in my complex. Trust me, we aren't a bunch of bungee jumpers."

  He let that slide. "Then, there's the way you like to order your food."

  He considered ordering the Chef's Special a risk?

  He sat back in his chair and pinned her with his powerful, dark, eyes. "However, the biggest piece of evidence that you aren't a cautious person is that you agreed to have dinner with me tonight."

  She agreed but probably for reasons entirely different from the ones he was implying.

  "Should I be worried? Are you planning something nefarious for later in the evening, or is this part of some devious plot that's going to leave me devastated?" She asked the questions facetiously and couldn't have been more surprised when the square line of his jaw tensed.

  "Maybe you should be a little more worried about things like that, Isabel. You know nothing about me."

  She had him there. "I know a great deal about you. I investigated your company, remember?"

  His frown did not lighten. "You thought I was the scholarly type."

  She chewed on her lip. He had a point.

  "Look. Is there a purpose to this?" He was making her nervous.

  His expression lightened. "You asked me why I thought you were a risk taker."

  Her fingers relaxed their grip on her wineglass stem. What would he think if she admitted to him that she was practically a virgin at the ripe old age of twenty-eight? He'd have a hard time justifying his view of her then. Or perhaps not. Maybe she made up for her emotional wariness by taking chances in other areas of her life.

  And where was all this navel-gazing taking her? Exactly nowhere.

  She took a small sip of wine. "You could be right, but to be honest, I've never thought of myself that way."

  She didn't like to go along with the flow, but she'd never equated that with a willingness to step out on the edge. She still wasn't completely sure she agreed with him.

  His hooded dark eyes were unreadable. "We rarely see ourselves as others see us."

  She frowned in thought over that. "D
o you think that's because we don't allow the world to see all that we are, or that sometimes we are too close to ourselves to see clearly?"

  "A little of both, maybe."

  Was she really sitting here having a philosophical discussion on self-perception with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous? Bettina would be appalled. Isabel could hear her friend's words as if she were there. Get with the program, girlfriend. This is a date! Flirt, already.

  Yeah, right Flirt. She didn't even know how to get with the program. Something about Alex's mood discouraged chitchat and yet that was a woman's best weapon on a first date. Silence reigned until the waiter brought their food.

  Alex looked up from his salmon. "How is it?" he asked pointing to her plate.

  She smiled. "Fabulous." The shrimp and pasta in garlic sauce was delicious.

  "Some risks pay off."

  "That's nice to know. After all, I wouldn't want to think the risk I took in going out with you, a virtual stranger, wouldn't be rewarded." She smiled and winked at him with flirtatious recklessness.

  Bettina would be proud of her.

  He contemplated her statement far longer than should have been necessary while his long fingers drummed a melody on the tabletop. "Only time will tell."

  She shivered but wasn't sure why. What was that cryptic statement supposed to mean?

  He frowned. "I told you that dress would be too cold."

  Not again. "Has anyone ever told you that you practice schizophrenic courtesy?"

  His body gave a small jerk and his dark brown eyes widened, for once clearly expressing his thoughts—surprise and a little confusion.

  She experienced a measure of satisfaction that she'd managed to knock him off-kilter, even a little.

  It seemed only fair, as she had felt off balance since the moment he'd arrived in her office the day before. "It's true, you know. You can be very polite and then say or do something incredibly rude. The most amazing part is that you appear completely oblivious to it."

  "My comment about your dress offended you?"

  She wanted to laugh at his honest disbelief.