Читать книгу Payback Affairs: Shattered by the CEO - Emilie Rose - Страница 13

The sudden roar of an engine broke Rand’s concentration Saturday evening.

He looked over his laptop screen and out the window beyond the desk he’d set up in his bedroom, and spotted Tara with a red lawnmower on the back lawn. A floppy straw hat covered her hair and face, but her skimpy bathing-suit top and short shorts did a piss-poor job of covering her from her shoulders to the white sneakers on her feet. His gaze cruised past the curves of her breasts to her midriff and long legs and back up again. His pulse quickened.

He forced his attention back to the spreadsheet, but the numbers might as well have been encrypted. He shoved the pages away. So much for the financial report. His brain had been hijacked by his libido.

Again.

The entire week had been a challenge. Tara was everything he’d said at the executives’ dinner and more. Smart. Efficient. Productive. She seemed to anticipate his needs even before he recognized them.

She was also a distraction. Her scent lingered in his office long after she left, and he heard every movement she made on the other side of the wall dividing her workspace from his. He’d never had trouble blocking out his previous PAs’ voices, but at this rate his open door policy was in danger of becoming the closed door variety.

She’d played him with the oldest trick in the book Thursday night. Seduction. And it pissed him off. Heat steamed from his pores and his body switched to red alert at the mental replay of her hot, wet mouth pulling a response from him. One he’d wanted to deny but couldn’t.

Cursing his inability to block the images from his memory, he closed his laptop, and gave in to the temptation to look at her again.

What was it about Tara Anthony that made him ignore rules and good sense?

Tara swiped a hand across her forehead, driving Rand’s gaze to the outside thermometer hanging by the back gate in the flower-flooded garden. Eighty-eight degrees. He drummed his fingers on the desk.

He’d been cloistered in his bedroom working for most of the day. And he wanted to stay here, avoiding Tara, avoiding the sexual craving her proximity caused, avoiding the memory of her talented, lying mouth. Avoiding the relationship he wanted no part of but she seemed insistent on forcing.

But his conscience wouldn’t let him, and he couldn’t concentrate with her making all that racket. He shot out of his chair, headed downstairs and plowed open the back door. He slammed into a humid wall of heat the second he hit the patio.

Tracking the engine noise, he stepped off the hot flagstones and around a hedge of tall green shrubs loaded with pink blooms and buzzing bees, and jerked to a halt when he spotted Tara bent at the waist with one hand on the mower handle. The curve of her backside pointed in his direction, and her shorts rode up to expose paler crescents of flesh beneath the ragged hem.

His muscles seized and his eyes gorged. A burn unrelated to the evening sun baked his skin. He fisted his hands by his side against the urge to trace those untanned curves. Most women hated tan lines, but he loved them. That pale flesh signified something taboo, an area meant to be concealed.

Tara scooped up a yellow ball, straightened then tossed the toy over the six-foot wooden privacy fence separating her yard from her neighbor’s. She resumed mowing, her long, lean leg muscles flexing with each stride.

“Tara.” She either didn’t hear him or ignored him. “Tara,” he shouted.

She spun around so abruptly the noisy engine died. “What?”

The closer he got to her, the drier his mouth became. Her blue underwire top cupped and lifted her breasts like lingerie or his hands would, and her denim shorts were so old and faded it was a wonder they hadn’t split at the seams when she’d bent over. On second thoughts, they hadn’t torn because they were too large and barely clung to her hips. The waistband gaped to reveal her navel. Frayed bits of bleached fabric danced along the tops of her thighs in the slight evening breeze. A sheen of sweat glistened on her body, and a rivulet ran from between her breasts to disappear behind her loose waistband.

One tug and Tara’s denim cutoffs would be tatters. Rand’s fingers twitched. He swallowed, but the gesture did nothing to wet his dry mouth or douse the fire behind his fly. Neither did his gulps of suntan-oil-and-fresh-cut-grass-scented air.

“Why don’t you have a lawn service?” The unwanted attraction pissed him off and his anger came through in his clipped words.

She shrugged, removed her hat and wiped her forehead with her forearm. “Too expensive.”

“Not with the salary I’m paying you.”

“That money is earmarked for something else.”

“What?”

She shifted and the shorts slid south a fraction of an inch. Another wiggle of her hips and they’d hit the grass.

Was she wearing panties?

Was prancing around out here in her skimpy clothing part of her hook-a-husband plan?

As if she’d guessed his thoughts, she hitched up her pants. “Most of it’s going toward my mother’s medical bills. If I don’t get them paid off soon the creditors are going to put a lien on the house.”

“The house she wanted you to keep.”

“Yes.”

“Just in case your father came looking for her,” he said, repeating her ridiculous story. “What kind of woman loves a man who walks out on her?”

“The kind who vowed to love, honor and cherish until death parted them. We never had proof that my father died. Mom kept her vow.”

So had his mother, he realized. The sobering thought knocked Rand back a step. His mother had loved her jackass of a husband despite his repeated infidelities.

Tara sighed. “Rand, did you need something? Because I’d like to get this finished before the forecasted thunderstorms roll in.”

As if to reinforce her point, thunder rumbled in the distance. Sweat glued the fabric of his polo shirt to his torso. “I’ll hire a landscaping crew and have them onsite first thing Monday. You don’t have to do this.”

She shook her head. “Yes, I do. The yard is something my mother and I always worked on together. I need to do this. For her. For me.”

Crap. Another Hallmark moment.

It was bad enough that pictures littered the flat surfaces in the house—pictures of the happy kind of childhood Rand and his siblings hadn’t had. Pictures of the kind of life Tara had told him she wanted five years ago. With him.

Face it. She lied about loving you and you fell for it. Get over it and move on.

Curses ricocheted around his skull and every instinct told him to retreat inside and get back to work. She was sucking him into suburbia and into a relationship against his will.

He did not want to share her home, her chores or her life. But he could hardly sit inside in the air-conditioning while Tara toiled away in the summer heat. He wasn’t a freeloader.

And since you’re not paying your way with sex—

Dammit. He wasn’t pissed off that she hadn’t approached him since the night she’d blown his … mind. He didn’t want to be her gigolo.

“How can I help?” The words clawed their way up his throat.

She tilted her head and considered him for several seconds. “If you’ll mow, I’ll handle the Weed Eater.”

Rand studied the machine. He knew nothing about lawn-mowers or mowing grass. Kincaid Manor had always employed a team of gardeners. Since moving out of the family house more than a decade ago, he’d lived in high-rise urban condos surrounded by concrete. If there had been any plants in his complexes, he hadn’t noticed them.

But he’d spent one summer working in the engine room of a 160,000-ton cruise ship. He could handle one small push mower. “Okay.”

Tara’s gaze drifted over his shirt and khaki pants. She did that often—looked him over from top to bottom. And his body reacted predictably. Every time. He resented the ease with which she pushed his buttons when no other woman’s come-hither looks did a thing for him—unless he allowed it. Fighting the unwanted response, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You’ll need to change first. You’ll roast in long pants.” Without waiting for his reply she walked away.

His gaze remained riveted to the sway of her behind until she disappeared into the shed that looked like a small chalet in the back corner of the property. Cursing silently, Rand returned to his bedroom, changed into an old sleeveless T-shirt, gym shorts and running shoes and went back outside.

Even before he finished reading the instructions printed on the machine’s handle, he’d sweated through his shirt. He peeled off the soggy, clingy cotton and tossed it onto the patio, then bent and pulled the mower’s cord. The motor sputtered but didn’t start. He cursed and tried again. Another sputter. Another curse.

A slender leg entered his peripheral vision. He tracked that sleek, lightly tanned skin upward, past a shapely thigh, a hip, the indenture of her waist and the swell of her breast. Tara stood beside him carrying a Weed Eater and wearing safety goggles on her brim-shadowed face. She looked like a model from the pages of a handyman’s sexy calendar—the kind a guy would hide in his gym locker or his garage. Any red-blooded male would want to roll in the grass with her in that getup.

“Have you ever used a lawnmower?” she asked, her eyes raking over his bare chest.

“No. But I can handle it,” he said through clenched teeth.

She smiled and squeezed the two handles together. “Safety feature. If you let go and the handles separate, the mower shuts off. Now pull the cord.”

He did, conscious of her nearly naked body beside him and of those blue eyes tracking his every move. The engine roared to life. He fastened his fingers around the vibrating bar. Tara nodded and leaned forward until her breast bumped his elbow and her lips touched his ear. Fire sparked in Rand’s groin. His hand slipped and silence once again descended on the yard as the engine died.

She dropped back on her heels. “Stick to the grass and stay out of the flower beds. I’ll get the hard to reach stuff.”

And then she sashayed away, leaving him to master the machine. She fired up the Weed Eater. The alluring play of muscles beneath her skin as she whirred her way along the fence enclosing the yard held him captive. She hadn’t had those muscles five years ago. He knew, because there wasn’t an inch of her he hadn’t explored. With his hands. His lips. His tongue.

Rand blinked and pivoted away from her distracting presence. He restarted the mower and shoved it forward, focusing on plowing straight lines through the thick emerald carpet of grass. If he didn’t pay attention, he’d probably cut off his foot.

The contradictions in Tara’s behavior nagged him as he worked. She still drove the same car she’d owned when they dated. She wore old clothing better suited to a rag bag, did her own yard work and paid her mother’s bills.

He glanced once more at the woman who’d blackmailed him into being her house and bedmate. Had he been wrong about Tara in the past?

No, dammit. He’d seen her coming out of his father’s bedroom with a hickey on her neck, a flushed face and messed-up clothing. Regardless of what lie she’d concocted, she’d been intimate with his father.

Add in that she hadn’t accepted the KCL job until Rand offered a salary that was quadruple the industry standard and agreed to play house, and it was clear Tara Anthony was up to something. The question was what?

She had to be looking for a sugar daddy.

But she wouldn’t find one in him.

For Mitch’s and Nadia’s sakes Rand would be smarter this time around. Because he had a hell of a lot more to lose.

“Good morning, Rand.”

Tara caught the almost imperceptible hitch in Rand’s step and the brief flash of surprise in his eyes when he turned the corner into their office suite and realized she’d beaten him to work Monday morning.

Mouth tight, he nodded and resumed his course. He had to pass her desk to get to his office. “You’re in early.”

He’d hibernated in his room for most of the weekend. She’d barely seen him except for the time he’d mowed her grass Saturday evening. They couldn’t build a relationship that way.

He looked delicious in a taupe suit and light blue shirt. A fresh tan from that hour of yard work darkened his lean face, and the memory of how he’d looked shirtless and sweaty made her temperature spike.

She rose. His pace faltered again as his hazel eyes roved over her new wraparound dress. She loved the way the fuchsia fabric hugged her breasts and waist and floated just above her knees. But she loved his nostril-flaring reaction even more.

Working primarily from home since she’d left KCL meant she had an extremely limited professional wardrobe. Most of that was too big. She’d spent Sunday afternoon shopping because she needed both work and cruise wear. By the time she’d returned from the outlet mall last night Rand’s door had been securely shut. He’d left a note in the kitchen telling her he’d already eaten dinner.

He snapped his head forward and stalked toward his inner sanctum, but not before Tara noted the appreciative expansion of his pupils. Encouraged, she gathered her notepad and followed him.

“We have a ton of stuff to get through before we leave for the cruise on Friday. The first brand’s most recent financials are waiting on your desk, and the president and VP are due at eight-thirty.”

Four more nights and she’d have him all to herself … along with 2800 people on the ship, that is. She almost danced in her new d’Orsay pumps with anticipation.

Rand stopped so quickly she plowed into his back. His heat and scent enfolded her, but she righted herself and smoothed the spot where her pen had touched his suit coat, checking for a stain. None. Good.

He stiffened and stepped out of reach. “What is that?”

She tracked his gaze and stated the obvious, “A coffeepot. When you’re not using it the roll-down door will conceal it.”

He turned his thin-lipped frown from the new addition on the shelving unit to her. “Where did it come from? And why is it here?”

“I picked it up this morning at your favorite coffee shop, along with a pound of freshly ground beans. The pot has a timer. I’ll set it up so your coffee will be ready each morning when you arrive, and since you insist on leaving home without breakfast, I’m having it delivered from the KCL cafeteria every day at eight because you’re cranky when you’re hungry.”

Her announcement earned her a darker scowl.

“I’ve chosen this week’s menu, but you’re welcome to make adjustments if you like. Here are the chef’s suggestions for next week after we return from our cruise. Of course, I didn’t tell him why we’d be out of the office since that would defeat the purpose of an incognito inspection.”

She offered him the list of choices. When one of his hands clenched the handles of his leather laptop bag and the other remained fisted by his side, she put the paper in his in-box.

“Tara—”

“You’re welcome,” she interrupted. She’d learned by his growls that he didn’t like her doing things for him such as his laundry or preparing meals and leaving them in the refrigerator. But she had to cook and clean for herself. Doing so for one more wasn’t a bother. In fact, after a year of silence and solitude she liked having someone else to look after.

She crossed to the pot and filled a mug, which she then set on his blotter. “I’ve already dealt with most of your e-mail, but I flagged a couple for your attention. Do you need anything else before you tackle your in-box?”

She could almost hear him grinding his teeth as he opened his bag and withdrew his computer. “No.”

“I’ll bring in your breakfast as soon as it’s brought up, and I’ll let you know when the first management team arrives.”

She turned on her heel and retreated to her office.

“Tara, it won’t work.”

She pivoted and examined his hard face. “What won’t?”

“Buttering me up.”

She frowned. “Buttering you up implies I want something.”

He closed the distance between them in two long strides, not stopping until he was so close she could see the gleam on his freshly shaven jaw and smell his cologne and a hint of mint toothpaste. “You’re after a wedding ring.”

Her breath caught and her heart skipped. He didn’t know that for sure. He was only guessing. What would he do if she confirmed his suspicions? He couldn’t fire her without jeopardizing his part of the will. But he might fortify the walls barricading his heart, and she had a formidable battle on her hands already.

“I’m after a mutually satisfying relationship. That’s it.” And it was everything. Five years ago he’d been her playmate and her bedmate. She wanted both back. And she wanted more. Much more.

His intense gaze made her want to squirm, but she’d told nothing but the truth.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well … that’s certainly honest. My mother always claimed trust was built on actions, not words. So I guess I’ll have to prove to you that I’m not after anything that you won’t willingly give.”

The trick was convincing him to give willingly.

Tara had given Rand space this past week and he’d used it to avoid her. That ended now.

Excitement and anticipation quickened her pulse and dampened her skin late Friday afternoon. She had three nights at sea with Rand to look forward to. Three nights and four days of sharing a cabin. And a bed.

She could hardly wait. The Miami-to-the-Bahamas Rendezvous trip would be her first cruise and her first real vacation in six years, but neither was the main attraction. The man ahead of her held that honor. She wanted to get Rand to relax with her, to leave the world of work, tailored suits and tightly knotted ties behind. His current navy twill pants, white polo shirt and baseball cap were a good start.

She followed him into their assigned cabin, mimicking his moves of inspecting the closet and the tiny lavatory, which contained a sink, toilet and compact shower/bath stall. Definitely not large enough for two.

Reserving a middle-of-the-road cabin—not the cheapest, nor one of the luxury suites—had seemed the best way to blend in. The room was smaller than she’d expected. But then what did she know about cruising? Nothing. And the cabin’s limited size could work to her advantage. There was literally nowhere for Rand to hide.

Besides the bed, there was a love seat, two tiny bedside tables and coffee table, as well as a wall unit with drawers, a minifridge and a television quietly playing a show about the proper use of life jackets. Seeing those life jackets in the center of the bed reminded her that she’d soon be out of her depth. In more ways than one.

Rand set his cap on a shelf, snapped off the TV and inspected the narrow rectangular space with his hands on his hips. He crossed the carpet and slid open the glass door. Warm sea-scented air flooded the air-conditioned room. Tara joined him on a private balcony about the size of a single bed and looked over the railing. Lifeboats hung from the sides of the ship just below their balconies.

The theme song from Titanic launched in her brain. But even that chilling intrusion couldn’t dampen her enthusiasm. She wanted to bounce and giggle. Instead, she trailed Rand back inside. He didn’t look happy.

“Is there a problem?”

His gaze landed on the bed they’d soon be sharing before returning to hers. “The room is clean, uncluttered and suitably equipped for the price point. The textiles could be fresher.”

He seemed more tense than usual despite his casual attire. “Are you worried about being out of the office? Mitch’s PA assured me your brother could handle everything until Tuesday when we return.”

“I’m sure he can.”

“Rand? Are you okay?”

He looked at her, his gaze running over the flirty strapless apricot sundress that left her shoulders and most of her legs bare. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me.” She tilted her head and her new dangly gold earrings tapped the sensitive spot on her neck—the one that drove her wild when Rand grazed the skin with his teeth. She couldn’t wait for him to do it again, and if this trip went according to plan, he’d do so often.

She’d dreamed about strolling hand in hand on the beaches during the day and on the deck by moonlight, quiet dinners and sharing his bed.

They hadn’t been intimate since that night she’d pleasured him. Instead of spending quality time together this past week they’d had an endless series of meetings with the executive staff during the day, and he’d spent evenings in his bedroom working on his laptop. They probably hadn’t had two hours total of private face time since Monday morning. That didn’t mean she hadn’t been aware of his every movement both at home and work.

She was counting on the forced togetherness of the cruise making it impossible for him to keep his distance. “I’ve never cruised before. I can’t wait for you to show me the ropes.”

Cruising wouldn’t be the only first she’d shared with him, but telling a commitment-phobic man she’d been a virgin before they’d slept together that first night hadn’t seemed like a good idea at the time. She was pretty sure the revelation would have ended not only their evening but also their relationship.

His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you the one who claimed the discounted rates made cruising affordable?”

“I’ve never had anyone to go with.” Except him. “My mother was afraid of the water and Nadia wasn’t interested.” She dug in to her carry-on and pulled out the cruise materials. “We need to sign up for our shore excursions.”

His frown deepened. “I’m here to work, not play. You’re here as camouflage. You’re on your own except for the lifeboat drill and dinners where we’ll need to present ourselves as a couple. Do whatever you want. Go ashore. Use the spa. KCL will cover your expenses. Reasonable expenses. No jewelry. No designer clothing.”

Taken aback by the rapid unraveling of her plans, she struggled to regroup. If she didn’t change his mind, their romantic getaway would be a solitary vacation. She’d been alone enough since her mother died. “But … how will you find out the reasons bookings are down if you don’t do the full cruise experience?”

“I know what to look for.”

“I could help.”

“If this is your first cruise, then you won’t recognize substandard issues.”

He had a point. “You could teach me.”

“Tara—”

“What about the welcoming party?”

“I need to check the ship and the chaos of castoff is the best time.”

His hard gaze pinned her in place. She scrambled for a valid reason to be with him.

“Do you really want to tip your hand and let them know you’re here on our first day? I mean, I realize the check-in associate saw your name, but you had on your hat and your passport still lists a California address. I don’t think she recognized you or made the connection to KCL. We should stick together. You said yourself we’ll draw less attention as a couple.”

His lips thinned in irritation. “Fine. But don’t expect to play inseparable newlyweds throughout the cruise.”

Newlyweds. The word sent her temperature skyrocketing. Her gaze bounced to the bed, then back to Rand’s face. The banked heat in his eyes made her shiver, and the obvious fact that he wanted her kept her going.

She licked her dry lips. She would soon have him exactly where she wanted him, but could she make him happy to be there? Could she make him yearn to share her bed the way he used to?

That was the mission she intended to accomplish over the next three nights.