Swept Away by the Tycoon

by Barbara Wallace

  And guessing from the sour way he spoke, not a very pleasant one. “Want to share?”

  “Ever wish you could turn back time?”

  Having expected him to say no, his question caught her off guard. “Beyond tonight?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, tossing the cloth into the bowl. Water splashed over the sides, leaving a puddle on the table. “Beyond tonight. Muggings don’t count.”

  Then what did? Relationships? Bad decisions? “All the time,” she answered. More than he could possibly know. She gave a soft laugh, trying to inject a little humor into what was otherwise a pathetic situation. “You met Aiden.”

  “True enough. What on earth did you see in him, anyway?”

  “A really sexy Irish accent. What can I say?” she added, when Ian arched a brow. “I’m shallow.”

  “Aren’t we all?” he replied with a smile.

  Right now, the shallow part of her had noticed the shadows behind his eyes. The darkness alternately marred and enhanced their blue color, giving his gaze depth. “So why are you turning back time?” she asked him. “Don’t tell me you have relationship issues.”

  “I’ve got issues up the ying yang, Curlilocks.” His hands cradled her jaw again, tilting her head backward. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

  “Will I live, Doc?” She really wanted to ask what he meant, but those were the words that came out.

  Ian was quiet as he studied the wound. Amazingly, his touch was even more gentle than before. Between the featherlight contact and his breath blowing warm at the base of her throat, Chloe found herself fighting not to break out in a warm shiver.

  “You already have a scar,” he said after a moment.

  “Took a header going in for a layup. College ball,” she added for clarification.

  “A six-foot-tall woman playing basketball. There’s a stereotype.”

  “Six feet and a half inch, thank you very much.” She lowered her chin, a mistake, since she found herself nose to nose with him. The shiver she’d been fighting broke free. “And playing ball helped pay for school.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Suppose that’s one way of looking at things.” If you call being born with pterodactyl-length arms lucky. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

  “We all have a choice,” he said.

  “What does that mean?”

  Busy pawing his way through the bandages, Ian didn’t answer right away. “Exactly the way it sounds. We always have a choice. We don’t always make the right ones.”

  “You can say that again,” she replied. “I’ve made enough bad decisions to qualify as an expert.”

  “Nonsense, you’re just a baby. Talk to me when you’ve made as many mistakes as I have.” He tore open a Band-Aid. “Then you can call yourself an expert.”

  Chloe recalled her thoughts this morning, about whether Ian had battled karma. Apparently he had, although not as victoriously as she’d supposed.

  “All done,” he announced, stepping back. He was referring to bandaging her cut, but intuition told her he meant the conversation, as well. The abrupt end left her as unsettled as his touch.

  Made her wonder if she wasn’t dancing around a mistake herself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “DO YOU LIE to everyone you meet, or did I win some special kind of prize?”

  Engrossed in letter writing, Ian almost missed the question. He looked up to find Chloe towering over his table. She’d dressed for dramatic effect today, with her hair pulled back and a pair of large sunglasses accentuating both her cheekbones and her bandaged chin. Instantly, the memory of her skin beneath his fingers sent awareness rolling through him, and he had to squeeze his pen to keep from reaching out to touch her again. She was too attractive for her own good. The type of woman the old Ian would have pursued with a passion. Wined her, dined her and charmed those boots right off. On second thought, he’d charm off everything but the boots.

  Damn the conscience that came with sobriety.

  “Would you mind starting the conversation again?” he asked her. “I missed the beginning.”

  “Ian Black Technologies.”

  Ah. His not-so-secret identity. “Someone’s been playing on the internet.” He wondered how long it would take for her to dig up his story.

  “Your name sounded familiar, so I went online to find out why, and there you were, larger than life. Ian Black, technology entrepreneur extraordinaire.”

  “Extraordinaire’s a pretty strong word. More like a guy who had the right idea at the right time. Still doesn’t explain how I lied to you.”

  Her sunglasses rose and fell, signaling an arched eyebrow or two. “You said you owned a coffee shop.”

  “I do.”

  “Conveniently leaving out the part about the global defense company. A lie of omission is still a lie.”

  “Maybe I like keeping a low profile.” The sunglasses moved again; an eye roll this time, he suspected. “Besides, I didn’t omit anything. Or didn’t you read the part where I got kicked out of my own company?”

  “My ad agency works with a lot of large companies. CEOs get replaced all the time. Corporate politics, change in culture. Doesn’t alter the fact you’re hardly as down-and-out as you led me to believe.”

  Fascinating. She might the first woman he’d ever met who was annoyed because he was rich. She was also terribly naive if she thought his eviction was solely because of politics or culture change. “If you work in advertising, you know there’s also such a thing as corporate spin. Believe me, I earned my ouster.” Given how bad things got, he was lucky he’d held his office as long as he did. “As for the omission...I already apologized for misleading you. Defense contracting is part of my past. I prefer to focus on fixing my present.”

  “Fixing?” she asked.

  “Told you, I made a lot of mistakes.” He pointed with his chin at the two paper cups in her hand. “One of those mine?”

  A blush made its way up those cheekbones, adding a shade of pink to the tawny color. “Apparently I didn’t learn my lesson last night.”

  “Last night was sweet.”

  “Don’t you mean naive?”

  “Never apologize for doing something nice. So was buying coffee today.” Regardless of whether he owned the place or not. “Besides, profits are always appreciated.” He motioned for her to sit down.

  “I wanted to do something to thank you for saving me,” she said, settling into the place across from him. “I thought about buying you a new sweatshirt, but that was when I learned you were a big-time tycoon.”

  “Meaning I can buy my own.”

  “Meaning you could buy me one.”

  Ian laughed. She was a spunky one.

  “From the looks of things, I’m going to assume you made it home okay, too.”

  “More than okay. I’ve never had a police escort before.”

  “I have,” he told her. “Although they weren’t as friendly.” Nor did any of them check out his legs the way Officer Kent did hers.

  “You didn’t need to ask him.”

  Yes, he did. Curlilocks might put on a good show, but she wasn’t as tough as she liked people to believe. Beneath all the spunk and saucy comments lurked a whole lot of vulnerability. If you looked close enough, you could see it flashing behind her eyes. Lord knows, he’d looked close enough last night. Exactly why he had asked the police officer to take her home. Talking, touching her....he’d pushed his luck far enough. For a man who hadn’t been with a woman in over a year, taking her home would have been way too tempting. He had enough mistakes to fix without throwing into the mix a one-night stand with a woman just out of a bad relationship.

  “Don’t sweat it,” he said. “Part of the perks of being semi-famous is you feel okay asking the police for favors.”

  “No, I meant he’d already offered.”

  Oh. How considerate of the man. “Does this mean poor Aiden’s been replaced?”

  “No way,” she replied with a wave of h
er gloved hand. “Not that Aiden’s irreplaceable, because believe me, he isn’t. I’m simply not looking to do any replacing. I wasn’t kidding when I said I had a bad track record. I’m not what you’d call the best judge when it comes to people, as you know.”

  All the more reason he’d made the right decision last night. “How do you know Officer Kent wasn’t the exception to your track record?”

  Leaning forward, she lowered her sunglasses as if about to share a secret. “Because there is no exception.”

  “You sell yourself short.”

  “I’m not selling anything short,” she said, wrapping her lips around her straw. “I know I’m a prize. It’s the men that fail to meet expectations.”

  “Present company included?” Ian couldn’t help himself; she’d left the door wide open. When she didn’t answer right away, he laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Seems to me a guy who lied about being poor shouldn’t ask stupid questions.”

  Ian laughed again. No sense arguing, as she’d only reboot her lie-of-omission argument. Given neither of them were likely to concede ground, the argument would last all day.

  They were alike in a lot of ways, weren’t they? Stubborn, quick with the verbal cut. It’s why he knew she wasn’t as cavalier about men as she made out to be. The sunglasses might hide her eyes, but you couldn’t kid a kidder. Last night’s vulnerability tinged her voice.

  Of course, she’d deny the charge to her dying day. Ian knew, because he’d do the same. Better to face the world with bravado. Hide the scars and fears, lest your weakness show.

  So why did he talk about his mistakes last night? Reaching across the table, he pulled the other coffee close and peeled off the lid. The aroma of fresh brewed arabica greeted his nostrils. Hot, steaming and black. The one habit from his drinking days he never planned to drop. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. Heaven. “What did man do before the invention of coffee?”

  “Killed each other.”

  “In that case, I’m starting a petition to award the man who brewed the first cup the Nobel Peace Prize. I’m not sure, but I think his name might have been Starbuck.”

  This time Chloe was the one who laughed. Ruby-red lips parting to release an indulgent lilt. The sound wound through his insides, warming places long dormant.

  He took a long drink, reveling in the relaxation. It had been a long time since he’d dropped his guard around someone—someone besides Jack and his rehab counselors, that is. No wonder he’d backed off last night. Subconsciously, he recognized the potential friendship and didn’t want to screw things up.

  “I should let you get to work,” he said, setting his coffee down. “Going out on a limb, I’m going to guess you didn’t show up early just to buy me a cup of coffee.”

  “If only. That is—” her eyes dropped to her cup “—I have to make up the work I didn’t stay late and finish last night. I don’t like leaving things hanging.”

  Me, either, he thought, glancing down at the letter he’d started and restarted a half dozen times. Another ex-lover whose feelings he’d crushed. Every apology he wrote was a reminder of how many “things” he still needed to address. “You have a good excuse, though,” he told Chloe. “I’m sure your boss will understand. Especially when he sees your chin.”

  “Why do you think I kept the bandage on?”

  Damn, but he wished she wasn’t wearing sunglasses. He liked the way her eyes sparkled when she got cheeky. “If you really want to ratchet up the sympathy, add a limp. Nothing tugs on an employer’s heartstrings like a little hobble.”

  “Did the tactic work for your employees?”

  “Hell no. Why do you think they were happy to see me go? I was a major hard-ass.”

  “So I read last night.”

  “And yet you still talk to me.”

  “Today, anyway.” She started to leave, only to stop suddenly. When she spoke again, it was without the saucy edge. “In case I didn’t make myself clear earlier, I really do appreciate everything you did last night. This probably sounds silly, but if there’s anything I can do for you...”

  “Don’t sweat it. And you don’t owe me a thing. Believe me, the good karma points are more than enough.”

  “Trying to avoid a receding hairline and beer gut?”

  “You’re onto me, Curli.”

  The corners of her mouth curled into a playful smirk. “I don’t think you need to worry too much, Ginger. Man your age? The damage is already done.”

  Didn’t he know it. Exactly why he forced himself not to watch her behind strut out the door. His blood was stirred up enough for one day. Stir it any further and he’d have to add another letter to the pile.

  * * *

  The transition from toasty coffee shop to the harsh outdoors hit hard. Chloe shivered and hugged her bag tight. She might have acted all laissez faire to Ian, but the truth was last night still had her feeling vulnerable. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if he hadn’t been there to lean on. His steady presence was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. If she concentrated, she could still smell his scent. Twelve hours later, the memory alone warmed her nerves. He’d been so strong, so dependable. She wasn’t used to dependable.

  Of course, you could have knocked her over with a feather when his photo popped up during her internet search, and she found her slacker slash coffee shop owner was none other than the CEO of a major defense company.

  Former CEO, she corrected. A fact Ian had been quite keen on emphasizing this morning. Something to do with his abrasive management style leading to a power shake-up. She’d been too shaky to do more than skim the story last night.

  Wonder where the ouster fell on his list of “issues”? She’d ask, but feared opening a wound. Especially recalling the pain he’d so clearly tried to mask when speaking. And here she thought knowing the slacker’s story would end her speculating.

  Up ahead, she spotted a familiar blonde head wrapped in miles of dark blue scarf and moving slower than the rest of the pedestrians. La-roo didn’t do cold weather well.

  “Trying to dial the phone by telepathy?” she asked when she caught up to her friend.

  Larissa frowned at the cell phone in her hand. “I could have sworn Tom said he would be in the office early this morning. We’re supposed to talk about groomsmen gifts. Oh my God, what happened to your chin?”

  “I got mugged last night.” Chloe did her best to sound casual, but her friend stopped short anyway.

  “You’re kidding! Are you okay?”

  “Other than the chin and a few scrapes on my hands and knees, I’m fine. My bag suffered the brunt of the damage. Two hundred dollars down the drain.”

  “Thank goodness. You must have been terrified.” Larissa took a step, then stopped short again. “What about your stuff! Are you going to have to cancel everything?”

  “Fortunately, no. Ian tackled the guy before he could get too far, and saved my credit cards.”

  “Who’s Ian?”

  Chloe told her the whole story, including Ian’s true identity, although she left out the part about last night’s odd sense of closeness. Knowing La-roo, she’d get all romantic over what was nothing more than an overblown reaction to Ian’s heroics.

  When Chloe finished, her friend shook her head. “Unbelievable. This guy sits around a coffee shop all day? Why? I know running a small business takes a lot of time, but moving in seems extreme.”

  “No clue. Maybe he likes being idly rich.” Which was doubtful. Ian didn’t strike her as a man who liked being idly anything. He was more the man of action type. Like last night. She got a hot thrill just thinking about how he’d taken down the thug.

  “Whatever the reason,” Larissa said, “you’re lucky he was there.”

  “Yeah, I was.”

  They pushed their way through the revolving door into the office building lobby. After three blocks of cold, the rush of warmth was almost tropical. Not as cozy feeling as at the café, but definitely welcome
.

  “I hate this weather,” Larissa said, unwinding her miles of scarf. “I thought it was supposed to be spring.”

  “Early spring,” Chloe reminded her. “You know as well as I do, that doesn’t necessarily mean warm.”

  “No kidding. Did you hear they are predicting rain this weekend? If I don’t see some sunshine soon, I’ll go crazy.”

  “Cheer up. Another few weeks and you’ll be in Mexico sipping champagne.”

  “The trip can’t come soon enough. I only hope Del gets good weather for her wedding.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think Del and Simon care, so long as they get married.”

  “True. Those two are so in love it’s sickening.”

  Chloe had to agree. Both Delilah and their boss had worked late last night themselves. She wondered if they’d noticed she didn’t return from her coffee run, or if they were too caught up with each other. Simon’s door had been shut tight. She pressed a fist to her midsection. Inexplicably, thoughts of Simon and Delilah dissolved into an image of her and Ian, causing the fluttering sensation to return.

  “You’re one to talk. You’ve got Tom,” she said, focusing her attention back where it belonged. Outward.

  “I guess.” Busy pressing the elevator button, Larissa sounded distracted. “Hey, is this Ian guy cute?”

  Cute was the last word she’d use to describe Ian Black. “He’s attractive. Why?”

  She didn’t have to answer; Chloe knew the reason as soon as she asked the question, and it was a bad one. “I’m not interested in getting involved right now.”

  “He’s a step up from the men you usually date. A lot better than Aiden, that’s for sure.”

  Was he? At least with Aiden, what you saw was what you got. Ian, on the other hand.... She barely knew the man and she already could tell he ran deeper and stiller than most waters. There was a reason she preferred shallow. Men with depth left bigger scars when the relationship ended. The nicks and cuts caused by guys like Aiden hurt bad enough. Why invite bigger pain?

  “You know, there’s no law that says people have to be in a relationship,” Chloe said as soon as the doors closed. Thankfully, no one joined them, meaning they could finish this conversation in private.