Come Up and See Me Sometime

by Lucy Monroe

  "Both times you said it, yes. And the fact that you lectured me on where I live, implying I'm a naive ninny for not checking in the peephole every time the doorbell rings."

  "Why should my concern for your physical comfort and well-being offend you?"

  She stared at him. "You really don't get it."

  "Why would you be offended that I might offer a suggestion for your well-being?" He shrugged. "No, I don't get it."

  "I didn't miss anything here, did I? This really is our first date. We met this morning. I haven't got amnesia about a several-month-long relationship, or something. Right?"

  His eyes narrowed. "We don't have a relationship."

  And from the tone of his voice he wasn't interested in one, either. Why had he asked her out then? All evening, she'd felt like something was missing from the equation. He didn't treat her as if they were on a first date. He'd just made it clear that he didn't want a relationship, but then he didn't seem to be angling for a bout of casual sex, either.

  "That's just my point. No, we don't have a relationship. This is our first date. On a first date, you are supposed to compliment my dress, not criticize it for impracticality. You aren't supposed to remind me later that you were right, either. It just isn't done. That sort of stuff is supposed to be saved for petty disagreements down the road."

  He stared at her like she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had.

  She frowned at him. "Well?"

  His eyes narrowed in wariness. "What?"

  "Compliment my dress."

  Now, his chocolate gaze filled with incredulity. "You're serious?"

  It shouldn't be so hard for him, but then maybe the disconcerting attraction she felt wasn't mutual.

  She frowned at the thought. "As a heartbeat."

  "It's sexy as hell and so are your shoes. Is that good enough?" He looked and sounded harassed.

  He'd noticed her shoes? A funny feeling unfurled in her stomach at the compliment. She might have ordered him to say it, but she still liked hearing it. How shallow could you get?

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. Now, would you like to put your jacket back on? It's damn cold in here."

  It didn't feel that way to her. Not now.

  "I'm fine. Maybe later," she conceded when he frowned, and then wished she'd agreed as her nipples tightened under his intense regard.

  Trying to ignore the unusual situation, she returned to her dinner. They had finished their meal, and the waiter had gone to get the dessert tray when Alex spoke again.

  "Tell me about the A.A. Placement Agency."

  Wary, as she always was when people wanted to discuss her work, she asked, "What do you want to know?"

  "What does the 'A.A.' stand for?"

  She had a hard time believing a man with his penchant for digging out information didn't already know, but she answered anyway. "Above Average. We pride ourselves on matching the best employee with the job."

  "Except with Marcus you were willing to go with someone not as well qualified because the client requested it, right?"

  She smoothed the napkin in her lap. "Right."

  "How long have you worked there?"

  Relieved that he wasn't going to pursue the topic of his assistant, she answered immediately. "Ever since I graduated from college."

  The waiter returned with the dessert tray. Alex chose tiramisu, and she selected a wickedly decadent looking slice of cocoa fudge cake.

  "I'm surprised you didn't go to work for Hypertron."

  Isabel's head snapped up. Of course he would know about her father. Alex knew more than the average person about the local hi-tech industry. "Because my dad's the head of the company?"

  "Yes."

  "That's probably the single most important reason why I didn't take a job there," she said.

  "You wanted to prove that you could make it on your own, without his help?"

  "That was part of it but not all. My dad has lousy work habits." At Alex's look of disbelief, she smiled. "I didn't say work ethics, I said work habits. Nothing comes before his company. I didn't want to work for a boss that would expect that kind of commitment. I want a life outside of my job."

  "I guess you don't place a lot of your clients with him, then. He wouldn't be your idea of the ideal employer."

  She grimaced. "Exactly. I have, um, helped several of his employees find more fulfilling positions elsewhere, however."

  Alex laughed and the sound captivated her.

  Entranced at the recurrence of his dimple, she smiled. "To be honest, once in a while I look for someone for him. Call me a masochist, but I keep trying to convince him to change his attitude toward his employees."

  Thinking of how impossible the task was, she lost her smile. "I wait until he's desperate, then I lecture him about how he wouldn't be in his predicament if he didn't demand so much from his employees that they end up getting divorced, burning out, leaving, or all three. Then I find him a new employee."

  Alex's laughter dried up, too.

  "Someone like my assistant?"

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  "That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

  Alex didn't like the look of dawning understanding in Isabel's eyes, because it was accompanied by a wounded expression that dug at his heart.

  "What do you mean?" he hedged.

  "I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out why you asked me out."

  Her typical female need to analyze everything concerning the male-female relationship had come at a damned inconvenient time. He didn't want to have a major confrontation here at the restaurant. He didn't want one, period. He just wanted a name.

  "It's not something you need to dissect, Isabel."

  "Right." She rolled her eyes, her disdain clear. "I may be naive sometimes, but I think I've got this one figured out. No wonder you found it so easy to break the first date rules and criticize my appearance. You don't care about my appearance. You aren't attracted to me at all. You're still trying to find out who hired me to approach Mr. Danvers, aren't you?"

  He would feel a hell of a lot better if all of what she said was true. "You're wrong."

  "I don't think so." She pushed her unfinished dessert away and picked up her purse from the empty chair next to her. She started rifling through it.

  "I am attracted to you."

  She looked up from her purse, her hands stilled in their search, a flicker of hope flaring in her eyes. "Are you saying you didn't ask me out in order to obtain information about one of my clients?"

  He could lie to her. He should lie to her, but he wasn't going to. She wasn't her father.

  There was something too trusting in her expressive green eyes for Alex to ignore their appeal for honesty. "No, I'm not saying that."

  Her lip trembled, but she clamped it between her teeth.

  She nodded. "I see. Well, I guess this is where I tell you that it didn't work and I'm going home." She stood up, dropping two twenties on the table as she did so. "That's for my dinner. I wouldn't want you to feel like you paid for information that you didn't get."

  He should let her go.

  She was right. He wasn't going to get any more information from her. She might as well hate him now as later. But at the sight of the two crisp bills against the white tablecloth, the tenuous hold Alex had on his control—since picking up the all-too-tempting Isabel—snapped. He shot to his feet and wrapped his fingers around her wrist in a loose grip that still prevented her from leaving.

  She gasped and stared at him with wide, startled eyes. He grabbed the money and handed it to her. "I'll pay for dinner."

  She made no move to take the money.

  "Fine. You can leave it as a tip for the waiter." He tossed the money back on the table and headed toward the front of the restaurant dragging Isabel with him.

  "You can't leave a forty dollar tip. Let go of me. You're acting like a caveman. This is ridiculous." Isabel kept up her litany of complaints all the way to the maitre d's st
ation.

  "If you didn't want to leave a forty dollar tip, you should have taken back your money," he informed her as he stopped in front of the maitre d'.

  "Is there a problem, sir?" the maitre d' asked.

  "No problem. We're ready to go."

  "You're supposed to wait for the waiter to bring the bill to the table," Isabel hissed from behind him.

  He almost smiled at the outrage in her voice. It was better than her sounding betrayed and hurt.

  The maitre d's expression remained impassive. "Of course."

  He clicked his fingers and the waiter who had been serving them materialized at Alex's side.

  Without letting go of Isabel's wrist, he managed to extract his American Express card from his wallet and hand it to the waiter. The man disappeared and returned a few minutes later. Alex took perverse pleasure in adding a twenty percent tip to his charge receipt. A sharp intake of breath from behind him indicated that Isabel had been watching over his shoulder.

  "Will there be anything else, sir?" asked the maitre d'.

  "I'd like you to call me a cab," Isabel said.

  Alex turned his head and smiled grimly at Isabel. "That won't be necessary."

  She fixed him with a steady gaze and pulled at her wrist until he let go. "I'm afraid it is."

  The maitre d' said, "There's usually a taxi out front."

  "Thank you," Isabel said as she turned to leave.

  Alex muttered a curse under his breath and followed her.

  When they got to the hotel lobby, she stopped and turned to face him. "I would thank you for a lovely evening, but that would be hypocritical. I'll just say good-bye."

  He bit back an irritated retort. "I'll take you home. You've already wasted forty dollars on a tip for the waiter. Do you really want to waste more money on a cab ride?"

  Her expression turned mulish. "I've already wasted an evening on you, what are a few dollars on top of that?"

  "Damn it, Isabel. I take my dates home and I pay for their dinner. Got that?"

  He felt ready to explode. How had she gotten him to this point? He was furious. He rarely got angry, never furious, and never this fast. On top of that, the sight of her in the sexy black dress kept feeding all sorts of impossible ideas into his head. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  "More schizophrenic courtesy?" she asked far too sweetly.

  He wasn't schizophrenic, but she was definitely driving him crazy. "Let me take you home. If it will make you feel any better, you can pretend I'm a taxi driver."

  To his immense relief she agreed. "Don't expect a tip, though. I already wasted forty dollars tonight."

  * * *

  Alex had been totally silent since tucking Isabel into the passenger seat of his car.

  She had tried valiantly to focus her attention out the window. She wanted to ignore him. To pretend that the whole evening had never happened, but she kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

  It just wasn't fair. She'd been attracted to him from the moment he'd entered her office, and it hurt to find out that the only thing about her that interested him was her client list, or rather the name of one client in particular.

  He pulled into a parking spot in front of her condo and killed the engine.

  "I could have lied." His voice startled her, coming as it did after so many minutes of silence.

  She opened her car door. "What would be the point? You must have already figured out that you weren't going to get what you wanted from me."

  She stepped out of the car, proud of her exit line.

  Alex followed her to the door, standing motionless as she searched for her key. "What exactly is that, Isabel?"

  Her head snapped up and she stared at him. The question, asked in far too soft a voice, sent a sensual thrill skittering down her spine that had absolutely no business being there after what she'd learned about him.

  The man was definitely acting dangerous again.

  "We've been all through this. You want my client's name."

  He reached behind her and she went motionless, unable to function with his nearness.

  He started pulling out her hairpins. "Are you sure that's all I want from you?"

  She wanted to yell at him not to do this to her but refused to give him the satisfaction. "Of course. It's not as if you're attracted to me or anything."

  The way he was looking at her belied that comment, and the feel of her hair falling from its French twist set off alarms inside her. "Even if you were," she said in a breathy voice, "you must realize that after the way you attempted to use me, I couldn't trust you."

  He shook his head and moved closer. "I didn't lie about my reasons for taking you out when you asked about them. Why would I lie about being attracted to you now?"

  She found herself crowded against her front door and had to fight the urge to pull him the final few inches until their bodies touched. Her skin felt hot and tight, while a heavy sensation pooled in her belly.

  "Maybe you are somewhat attracted to me, but we both know that isn't why you asked me to dinner." She'd tried to sound firm and cool this time, but once again managed only to reveal her physical reaction to him through a voice way too soft and inviting.

  He put his hands against the door, one on either side of her head, enfolding her in his presence, overwhelming her with his male scent and the heat emanating from his big body so close to her own. "Is that so important?"

  She swallowed. "Yes."

  His eyes devoured her while he brushed one finger down her cheek. "I don't agree."

  Warm, firm lips drowned her protest as he moved his hands from the door to cradle her head.

  His mouth slanted over hers in a sensual assault. She told herself that she should not respond to his kiss, but his mouth was so hungry. His passion fed her own.

  Her body started to melt as he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nibbled on it.

  Had she ever kissed before? Really kissed? If this conflagration of her senses was a kiss, then nothing she'd shared with her former dates counted as such because this was unique. This was passion. It felt too good to even think about stopping. She heard a moan and realized that it was hers.

  Her defenses were completely helpless in the face of such sensual mastery and her reaction to his kiss.

  Her moan acted like a catalyst for him and his hard-muscled body squashed her into the door, the evidence of his arousal pressing against her as they made contact from chest to tangled legs. The rough passion-filled movement—at odds with the tender way he cradled her head and the now gently nipping kisses he was giving her lips—affected her body in an unexpected way.

  She felt warm everywhere, particularly in her most feminine place. Not only was she hot there, but she felt empty and swollen at the same time. She tipped her pelvis toward him, seeking some sort of connection that would assuage the ache growing in her innermost being.

  He made a harsh sound and his mouth moved over hers, demanding that she open her lips to his invasion. Unable and unwilling to deny him, she let her lips part. He swept inside with his tongue and she tasted tiramisu and masculine ardor. The combination was both erotic and overwhelming.

  Her new favorite dessert. Even chocolate didn't taste this good.

  Running her hands over the raw silk of his shirt, she gloried in the textured fabric and the hard muscles underneath. She wanted to touch him everywhere, to have him touch her.

  She had the first half of his shirt buttons undone and one spaghetti strap was perilously low on her arm when he tore his mouth away from hers. "Key."

  Key? Her mind was lost in an unprecedented sexual frenzy. Nothing made sense except the feel of his body against hers.

  Since he wouldn't kiss her, she kissed him—along his jaw, down his neck. She had made it to his chest when he shoved himself away from her.

  "Baby, you are killing me."

  The chilly evening air buffeted her with the loss of the heat generated by Alex's body. She shivered with
unsatisfied desire and cold, trying to understand why he'd pulled away.

  "Your key. Isabel, give me the key to your door."

  She was so disoriented that she did just that.

  Alex rammed the key into the lock and shoved open the door. He turned and lifted her in his arms and carried her into the hallway, pushing the door shut with his foot.

  "Lock it," he ordered.

  She did.

  "Where's your bedroom?"

  The flat question finally broke through the passion dulling her brain's activity.

  She vehemently shook her head, fear slicing through her. And not fear that this man would take more than she willingly offered but rather fear that she would offer too much. If she'd ever had this volatile a reaction to a man before, she would not be such an inexperienced twenty-eight-year-old woman.

  She was sure of it.

  That inexperienced status was not going to end tonight, however. She had allowed herself to get carried away on the porch, but she wasn't about to make love with a man who had tried to use her.

  "No, Alex. You can't take me to bed."

  He acted like he hadn't heard her and started heading down the hallway.

  She struggled against his arms, but it was useless. He was much too strong, but still she wasn't afraid of him.

  "Let me down. I'm not ready to make love to you. I don't trust you."

  Why had she said it like that, as if there was a chance that someday she might? She wouldn't. She couldn't. She wanted commitment. He wanted a warm body.

  He stopped. His eyes burned into her. "Don't say that, baby."

  "Please, Alex."

  His jaw tensed and his now almost black eyes narrowed. Long seconds passed before he nodded with a jerky movement. Turning, he headed into her living room, where he gently set her on the overstuffed white leather chair that matched her sofa.

  Then he stepped back, his uneven breathing testimony to the desire he barely had in check.

  He ran his fingers through the black silk of his hair. "Okay. You're right. This is moving too fast."

  She nodded. Never would be too fast. "I don't trust y—"

  "Stop saying that," he demanded, interrupting her midword.

  His body tensed in an emulation of battle readiness. Did he think he could force her to trust him?