Читать книгу Her Millionaire Marine - Cathie Linz - Страница 12

“This is a surprise,” Kate’s father noted as he looked at her over the top of the morning paper. This morning, as he did every morning, Jack Bradley was eating breakfast in the formal dining room with its sumptuous red walls and gilded mirror. Her mother had one of San Antonio’s best interior decorators design the area to her specifications—which were rich and richer. “I thought you were still in Washington.”

“I got back late last night. Is that coffee?” Kate slid into a chair and reached for the thermal carafe. She’d walked the mile between Westwind and her parents’ place. Her Italian shoes would never be the same again.

“Of course it’s coffee,” he replied. “What else would I be drinking in the morning?”

“Decaf?”

“Yes, unfortunately. Doctor’s orders.”

“When is your next appointment with your heart doctor?”

“You sound like your mother.” He eyed her critically. “I must say you’re looking rather rumpled this morning.”

Kate wasn’t about to tell him that that was because she’d spent the night next door. “I ended up on a redeye flight last night. I didn’t plan it that way, but we kept running into flight delays…”

“By your use of the term we I’m assuming that you brought Hank’s grandson back with you?”

“His name is Striker, and I didn’t bring him with me, he came with me. He’s a Marine and they don’t take kindly to being brought anywhere.”

“Because he’s a Marine, I would assume he’d be accustomed to taking orders,” her father said, crisply folding the newspaper in half and setting it on the table. “Did he give you any problems?”

Plenty of them, she thought, but they were not the type that she could talk about with her father.

Kate still wasn’t sure how she ended up in the guest bedroom with half her clothes undone. She prayed that the housekeeper had put her to bed, but she had a vague recollection of turning over and seeing Striker looming above her.

Maybe that had been a dream. Surely, he wouldn’t take off her clothes?

What was she thinking? Of course he’d take off her clothes. He was a guy, wasn’t he?

But he was a Marine. Weren’t they supposed to have a higher code of honor or something?

Which meant that if he did undo some of her clothing, he would have done so with his eyes closed.

Yeah, right.

“Well?” her father prompted her. “Were there problems?”

“Nothing I can’t manage.”

“I certainly hope that’s the case.” Her father didn’t sound very confident of her competency. But then that was vintage Jack Bradley. No one could meet the high standards he set, not only for others but for himself as well. “I don’t understand why Hank insisted that you handle this matter yourself.”

“Because he had faith in my abilities.”

Jack picked up a dry piece of toast, glared at it and then tossed it back on the plate. “I should be the one handling his estate.”

“You already have more than enough work to deal with,” Kate reminded him. “The doctor told you that you had to cut back on the number of hours you spend at the office.”

“And I’ve done that.”

“I know you have. Honestly, I can handle things with the King estate. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“Hmm.” He made his customary noncommittal murmur which really meant I don’t buy that for one minute.

“Kate!” Her mother’s voice sounded horrified as she entered the room with her customary elegance. Even this early in the morning Elizabeth Hunter Bradley was the epitome of good grooming, wearing silk pants the color of café au lait along with a designer paisley blouse in swirls of browns. As a former Miss Texas she took great pride in her looks, and took great care to maintain them. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

“We don’t have a cat,” Kate replied, rather pleased at how calm she sounded given the fact that her stomach was in knots. Kate may have inherited her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes, but she lacked her mother’s innate ability to achieve perfection.

“You know very well what I mean.” Now her mother sounded irritated. “What on earth happened to you? You look as if you’ve slept in that suit.”

“She had a bad flight in from Washington,” her father replied on her behalf.

“What is she doing here at this time in the morning?” Her mother poured herself a cup of coffee. “Shouldn’t she be getting ready for work?”

“I’m right here,” Kate reminded her parents. “I can hear you talking about me.”

“Then answer the question,” her mother said.

“I’m hoping Dad can give me a ride into the city this morning,” Kate said.

“Why do you need a ride?” her mother asked.

“Because my car is still at my condo. So are my clothes.”

“And why aren’t you there?” Her mother continued the inquisition.

“Because the limo from the airport dropped me off out here.” Kate was not about to admit that she’d spent the night at Hank’s ranch with Striker, that he’d possibly put her to bed, removing half her clothes. Let her parents think she’d just gotten in from the airport.

“Dropped you off out here? Why would the driver do that?” her mother said.

“There was a mix-up. Oh, my, look at the time.” Kate made a big deal of tapping her fourteen-karat gold watch, a present from her father. “We’d better be going, Dad.”

“Right.”

Thankfully her father only talked about business during the drive into the city where he’d agreed to drop her off at her condo. He made no further reference to Striker.

That didn’t mean Kate wasn’t thinking about Striker, however. And wondering if she’d only dreamt the magic of his touch on her breasts last night….

“May I help you, sir?” The woman behind the reception desk on the top floor of King Oil’s headquarters eyed him warily.

Striker couldn’t blame her. He knew he looked out of place. He didn’t own a suit, not that he’d wear one if he could at all avoid it.

And he wasn’t sure of Marine procedure for wearing his uniform in this case. Sure he was here as a result of his commanding officer’s request that he do so. But did this really qualify as Marine business?

He’d settled for jeans and a denim shirt. Standard attire in Texas. But not, apparently, on the executive floor of King Oil’s headquarters, if the receptionist’s frown was any gauge.

“Good morning, ma’am.” He flashed his best smile at the suspicious receptionist. “I’m Striker Kozlowski.”

“Oh, Mr. King’s grandson. I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t know it was you.” The woman was practically trembling in her shoes.

“No problem,” he assured her as she ushered him in past the frosted glass doors that led to the executive offices.

Striker remembered visiting King Oil’s San Antonio headquarters the one summer he’d spent with his grandfather before joining the Marines. He never thought he’d set foot in this place again.

Midland or Houston were the more customary locations for an oilman’s headquarters, but then his grandfather had never been one to follow the crowd. He’d taken a shine to San Antonio and had decided to set up business there. End of story. Or the beginning of it.

His grandfather’s office suite was at the end of the wide hall. A massive desk stood guard outside the inner sanctum. He paused several feet away to assess the situation…and to appreciate the young woman standing beside the desk. She could have been a lingerie model. She was petite and busty with long red hair that reached halfway down her back. Her short skirt showed plenty of leg.

For the first time since this thing had started, Striker felt optimistic. Maybe this mission wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

The metal nameplate on her desk said she was Tex Murphy.

She didn’t look like a Tex to him, but he didn’t really care what her name was. He was just standing there enjoying the view when he heard Kate’s voice by his side. “Good morning, Striker.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, keeping his eyes on sexy Tex. “Was Tex Murphy my grandfather’s assistant?”

“Yes. She’ll be your assistant, as well.”

“Great.”

“But that’s not Tex,” Kate informed him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the young woman you’re drooling over is not Tex Murphy.”

“Marines do not drool,” Striker stated, swiveling his gaze to Kate.

“Right.”

“You, standing over there by Kate, state your business,” a grouchy, gravelly voice demanded.

Striker’s dreams of being pampered by the sexy redhead dissolved. “Let me guess. That’s Tex.”

“Yes, it is,” Kate said cheerfully.

There’s no way anyone would mistake Tex for a lingerie model. She did have a lot in common with a drill sergeant, however, including the voice. She was a petite little thing, but she had the bearing of a general. Her short hair was gun-metal gray and her light blue eyes reflected her dissatisfaction.

“Is she always this grouchy or is she just not a morning person?” Striker asked.

“Tex is always this way,” Kate replied with a smile that told him she was taking great satisfaction in this.

“Great.”

“Don’t tell me a big bad Marine like you is afraid of a spitfire like Tex?”

“Marines are never afraid,” he stated.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Striker decided she was having entirely too much fun at his expense. Time to turn the tables on her. “So where did you disappear to this morning?”

“This is not the time to discuss that,” she noted with a meaningful look in Tex’s direction.

“Don’t tell me a big bad attorney like you is afraid of a spitfire like Tex?” he mocked her.

“Tex has ears and eyes in the back of her head,” Kate muttered.

“I heard that,” Tex growled. “So you two might as well get yourselves on over here and talk to me directly instead of behind my back.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Striker said before flashing her a grin. “Striker Kozlowski at your service, ma’am.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Tex retorted.

“Doubt what? That I’m Striker?”

“That you’re at my service. That you’re up to no good, now that I’d believe.”

“Ma’am I’m just here to…” To what? He regrouped. “To assess the situation.”

“I can tell you the situation. Your grandfather, God bless his soul, has cashed in his chips and departed this earth. For some reason he saw fit to complicate all our lives by demanding that you, a Marine, spend time pretending to be an oilman in charge of a huge company. Luckily you’ve got me to help you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be an invaluable asset, ma’am,” Striker noted solemnly.

Her narrow gaze was filled with suspicion. “I hope you’re not fixin’ to be messin’ with my routine around here.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Striker assured her.

“I hope you are fixin’ to be messin’ with some other folks’ routines. They won’t take kindly to that, an outsider like you comin’ in here and messin’ with things.” She gave him an assessing head-to-toe look. “But then you don’t appear to be the sort of man to walk away from a fight.”

“I’m a Marine, ma’am. We don’t walk away from fights.”

“And they’re never afraid,” Kate added with a grin. “He already told me that much.”

“Anything else I should know about Marines?” Tex demanded.

“Plenty, but we don’t have to go into all the details this morning.”

“Just remember you’re in Texas now.”

“Hard to forget that, ma’am,” Striker noted with a nod toward the huge map of the state on one wall.

“And Texans are different.”

“By different, she means better,” Kate said.

“Shoot, I would have thought that much was obvious.” Tex said.

“I can’t work here,” Striker growled in frustration an hour later. He stood in his grandfather’s office. Before him were the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a great view of the skyline. The San Antonio River with its well-known River Walk meandered through the city while the Alamo rested in solitude to one side.

Striker felt like those men stuck in the Alamo, fighting against incredible odds. Not only was Kate inundating him with information about the company, but he was surrounded by the presence of his grandfather.

The walls were filled with photos of Hank standing beside former and present leaders of the free world. A pair of bronzes by some famous Western artist, Kate had told him the name but he’d forgotten, were on either side of a dark green leather couch that would have seated five comfortably.

There were no photos of family on Hank’s desk or anywhere in the office. No personal items. Only indicators of power. And a mural of oil rigs painted on the far wall that had at its core a saying by fellow oilman John Paul Getty— “Success: Rise early, work hard, strike oil.”

Striker supposed Hank had done all that. But what did he really know of his grandfather? There were few clues here.

Pausing at the desk, Striker reached out to touch the fountain pen sitting there. This he did remember. Hank had never liked ball-point pens. He’d been old-fashioned in his preference for fountain pens. And for baiting his hooks with handmade lures he’d devised himself.

It was as if everything had been left just as it was, waiting for Hank to return. Only he wasn’t returning.

Striker wasn’t listening to a word Kate was saying, and he needed to. This was important. He needed to be successful in this mission. But to do so, he had to make some changes.

Striker strode to the door and called out to Tex. “I need a conference room to set up my ops H.Q.”

“You want to speak English?” Tex said.

“A conference room. To set up my operational headquarters.”

“What are you fixin’ to operate on?”

“This company.”

“There’s a meeting room down the hall to the right.”

“Affirmative.” He resorted to his military language. It made him feel more in control.

Ten minutes later he and Kate were seated in a small conference room.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little ridiculous by refusing to use your grandfather’s office?” Kate said.

“Ridiculous?”

The tone of his voice should have warned her that she was entering dangerous waters, but it was too late now. “I just meant that it would be simpler to review the company’s status in his office where we would have easy access to files.”

“Marines aren’t into easy.”

“I’m learning that.”

“This laptop computer is supposed to be able to access any information I need, so what’s the problem?”

The problem was proximity. Unlike yesterday when she and Striker had sat across from one another at a conference table, today she had to sit beside him to show him how to use the spreadsheets displayed on the laptop computer.

The conference room he’d chosen was one of the smallest on this floor. Her shoulder kept bumping against his, her arm warmed by his body heat.

He was wearing jeans today, which reminded her of those times she’d seen him wearing jeans—and nothing else—that summer.

Or there was that first time, when he’d been skinny-dipping down by the pond. Wearing nothing at all.

She really had to get a grip here. She couldn’t keep allowing her thoughts to stray. They were discussing important topics, subjects that affected the livelihood and well-being of hundreds of people.

What had they been talking about before she’d gone off the deep end? Oh, yes. Striker had asked her if there was a problem using the laptop computer.

“No problem,” she belatedly replied. Which was a total lie of course. There were problems galore. Like her inability to keep her mind on business. Or the fact that Striker was getting more irritable by the minute.

“Who was that sexy redhead?” he asked out of the blue.

“Pardon me?” Kate blinked at him. Here she was having fantasies about Striker and he was interested in a redhead?

“That sexy redhead who was seated at Tex’s desk earlier. Who is she?”

“Tex’s granddaughter. I wouldn’t recommend messing with her. Tex is very protective of her family.”

“What makes you think I’d do anything Tex wouldn’t approve of?”

“Experience.”

“You don’t have much experience with me.”

True, but what experience she had had was definitely memorable. Except for her losing her clothing last night. That part was still hazy.

“Did you undress me last night?” she demanded abruptly.

“Define undress.”

“Don’t dance around the question.”

“Marines don’t dance around questions.”

“Fine, then answer it. Was Consuela the one who put me to bed last night?”

“I carried you upstairs to the bedroom, not Con-suela.”

“But then Consuela came and took things from there, right?” Kate said hopefully.

“No, ma’am. Consuela was in Corpus Christi last night visiting her mom. That left Tony and me.”

“So you were the one who undressed me?”

“What makes you think it wasn’t Tony?” Striker countered.

“He’s too much of a gentleman.”

“I thought I was being a gentleman by making you more comfortable.”

“You thought wrong.”

“Not a surprise. You always seem to think I’m doing the wrong thing. You’ve acted that way from the second you walked into my C.O.’s office in Quantico.”

“Me? You’re the one who isn’t the happy camper, the one who made it clear that you didn’t want to leave the Marines to come down here, that you think this entire idea is worthless. And now you throw a hissy fit and won’t even work in your grandfather’s office.”

“Marines do not have hissy fits!” Striker growled.

“I wouldn’t have minded if being surrounded by your grandfather’s things was making you remember him too vividly and causing your grief to overwhelm you. But I doubt that was the case. You haven’t shown the least bit of emotion about Hank’s death. He was a good man.”

“He was a dictatorial control freak calling all the shots.”

“How dare you insult him now that he isn’t here to defend himself!”

“Listen, you know nothing about me or how I feel so don’t go thinking you’re suddenly an expert on what I’m thinking. And don’t go singing his praises to me. He turned his back on my mother when she needed him most. She was struggling with kids to raise. Money was tight, Marines don’t make much, but Hank wouldn’t lift a finger to help her out. He made things rough for her when he could have made them easier.” There, the words were finally out.

Instead of agreeing with him, Kate asked, “Did she ever ask him for help?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then how could he know she’d need it?”

Her answer infuriated him. She sat there so cool and calm, so distant on her pedestal where she remained untouched by worries about making a paycheck stretch. “There’s no talking to you!” He turned the swiveling conference chair to glare at her.

She did the same, moving her chair to glare at him, not backing down one inch. “Me? I’m not the one with issues. You are.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Striker didn’t realize how close they were until he felt her sweet breath bouncing off his lips. He saw the emotion flaring in her eyes—anger followed by sudden awareness.

It was too late to retreat, too late to think. Striker could only act, leaning forward just enough to capture her wayward mouth with his own.