Читать книгу Written In The Heart - Judith Stacy - Страница 12

“She said no?” Stephen rocked forward in his desk chair, glaring at Richard. “Caroline Sommerfield said no? She turned down my job offer?”

Richard nodded slowly and sank into the chair across from him. “Turned it down flat.”

Morning sunlight beamed in through the open windows, brightening the room and bringing a little breeze with it.

“Did you explain to her that Monterey Enterprises is one of the largest, most prestigious corporations in the country?” Stephen demanded.

“I did.”

“That I have holdings that reach around the world?”

“Yes,” Richard said, “I told her that as well.”

“That she should count herself damned lucky that I’m even considering her for a job?”

Richard rose. “I did that, Stephen. I told her all those things.”

“Did you offer her the salary I specified?”

“Yes, and I even went beyond that figure,” Richard said.

Stephen shoved away the reports he’d been looking at. “Then what the hell else does she want?”

Richard shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Stephen pushed himself out of his chair and started pacing. Until last night he’d never even heard of a graphologist. But now, this morning, he absolutely had to have one.

And not just because of those dreams he’d had last night.

Stephen mumbled a curse as he paced. Damn that Russell Pickette. That rogue wasn’t going to get away with stealing his land, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to make a fool of him.

Stephen stopped pacing. “I need that Sommerfield woman. And I don’t care what it takes to get her here.”

“I’ve tried everything.”

“Then try something else.”

“There is nothing else,” Richard insisted.

Stephen pressed his lips together, fuming silently.

“I tried everything, Stephen. Her mind is firmly made up.”

“We’ll see about that….” Stephen grabbed his jacket and stalked out of the room.

When the bell jangled at the front door, Caroline bolted to her feet, nearly upsetting the teacups on her aunt’s breakfast table.

“Caroline,” Aunt Eleanor admonished, “let Bessie get the door. You know what’s expected of servants.”

Eleanor wasn’t a wealthy woman, but moved in social circles that occasionally intersected the upper class. Her long-deceased husband had left her well off, with a nice home and a servant, both well past their prime. Bessie was maid, cook and personal secretary to Aunt Eleanor. The years were catching up to her.

But it wasn’t Caroline’s concern for Bessie’s health that drove her from the breakfast table. It was her own aunt and the husband-hunting strategy session that was under way.

“Really, I don’t mind,” Caroline said, easing away from the table.

“If it’s someone selling something, tell them we’re not interested,” Aunt Eleanor called.

Caroline beat a hasty retreat through the house. If a salesman were at the door, she’d beg him to come inside and she’d listen to his sales pitch all day, if she could. Anything to get away from Aunt Eleanor.

Already this morning Caroline had had a visitor. Richard Paxton. She’d thought she might run into him at a party sometime, since he moved in the same crowd as Aunt Eleanor, or perhaps encounter him at a luncheon or dinner party. Where she didn’t expect to see him was on her doorstep bright and early in the morning.

And with a job offer. An offer of the job she’d dreamed of. But Caroline had told him no and sent him on his way without even letting him into the house.

Luckily, he’d come by before Aunt Eleanor had risen for the day, so Caroline hadn’t had to make up a lie to explain his presence. She shuddered to think what her aunt might say if she knew what Caroline’s real plans were. And surely she’d faint away if she ever found out where Caroline had been last night.

That whole unfortunate incident was best forgotten, Caroline decided, as she reached the front door. And that most definitely included Mr. Monterey.

Stephen.

The thought of him slowed her footsteps and tied a knot in her stomach. Her skin tingled, just as it had last evening in his office when he’d watched her every move and made it a little difficult for her to breathe.

Caroline shook her head, clearing her thoughts. That man was trouble. He did things to her—without even touching her. No, Stephen Monterey was better forgotten. She was glad to be rid of him, to have him out of her life. In fact, she hoped she never saw him again.

Caroline smoothed down the folds of her dress and opened the door.

Stephen stood on the porch.

She gasped, stared wide-eyed. Then slammed the door in his face.

What in the world was he doing here? Caroline fell back against the door, pressing her hand to her forehead. Why on earth would he—

The doorbell rang again.

She ignored it.

It rang another time.

She ignored it again.

Once more, the bell rang.

Caroline whipped around and opened the door wide enough to squeeze her face into the crack.

“Would you just stop that?” she hissed.

The angles of his face drew into hard lines. “Miss Sommerfield—”

“Go away.”

He squared his wide shoulders and glared at her, one eyebrow creeping upward. “Miss Sommerfield—”

“Shh!” Caroline glanced back through the house, praying her aunt wouldn’t come to see what all the racket was about. She peeked out the door again.

“You have to leave,” she said.

“I want to talk to you.”

“We have nothing to discuss.”

“We sure as hell do.” He braced his arm against the door, forcing it open.

Caroline pushed back. “Don’t come in here. I—I have a gun. I’ll shoot you, I swear.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Fire away.”

She fell back into the foyer as he pushed his way inside. Darn, she was going to have to work on her lying. She couldn’t fool one single soul.

Stephen closed the door, looking slightly annoyed. “This may come as a surprise to you, Miss Sommerfield, but there are literally dozens of people who would give their right arm to have me appear on their doorstep with an offer of employment.”

“Keep your voice down.” Caroline waved her hands at him and glanced over her shoulder again.

He craned his neck, following her line of vision. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Of course not. Why would anything be wrong? Now look, Mr. Monterey, I appreciate your coming here, but I’m simply not interested. Good day. Please leave now.”

He didn’t budge.

She drew herself up taller, stretching her chin as high as it would go. “Mr. Monterey, I’m afraid I must insist that you—”

“Caroline? Caroline?”

She cringed. It was Aunt Eleanor, and by the sound of her voice she was drawing closer.

“Hurry.” Caroline caught Stephen’s arm and tugged him toward the door. He didn’t budge. Didn’t even sway. It was like pulling on a tree trunk.

“Mr. Monterey, you really must—”

“Why, Caroline, who have we here?”

She spun around as Aunt Eleanor glided into the foyer. Too late. She was trapped.

Caroline dropped Stephen’s arm and stepped a discreet distance away.

“No one, Aunt Eleanor,” she said. “Just some vagrant asking for a handout.”

“Why, Caroline, how you do tease.”

Aunt Eleanor crossed the room, her hand extended. She was a tall, thin woman with gray hair and an uninspired wardrobe. But she was the epitome of social graces, a gentlewoman who always did the right thing and never stopped striving for perfection. In others, as much as herself.

“I know quite well who this gentleman is,” Aunt Eleanor said. “Mr. Monterey, it’s so very nice to have you here. What a pleasant surprise. I’m Mrs. Eleanor Markham, Caroline’s aunt.”

Stephen removed his derby and took her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Markham.”

Her gaze shifted between the two of them. “I take it you’ve come to call on Caroline?”

His gaze settled on Caroline. “Actually, I have.”

Aunt Eleanor fairly beamed with pleasure. A big smile stretched across her face and her eyes glazed over.

Caroline didn’t blame her aunt. Stephen did look exceptionally handsome this morning. He wore a dark blue suit with pleated trousers and a high buttoned vest. His shirt, with its starched collar, was snowy white, contrasting with his gray-striped necktie.

But Stephen’s good looks weren’t what held Aunt Eleanor’s attention. She’d spotted her prey—a highly eligible bachelor—and was plotting her next move.

“Caroline never mentioned that you two had met.” Aunt Eleanor laughed gently. “And here I was planning another round of parties for her. Her father will be so pleased when he hears the news. And so quickly after arriving in the city, too.”

A slow smile spread over Stephen’s face.

Caroline didn’t like the look of that smile. Something was behind it. Something calculating. She cautioned herself to be on guard.

“Come into the parlor, Mr. Monterey,” Aunt Eleanor said, guiding him to the room off the foyer.

Stephen folded himself onto the peach settee and tucked his long legs behind a marble-topped table. Caroline considered making a break for the door while she still could, but didn’t want to leave him at the mercy of her aunt; she didn’t dislike him that much.

Aunt Eleanor took the chair directly across from Stephen. “So, tell me, how did you two meet?” she asked.

Caroline perched on the piano stool, the farthest seat from Stephen. Now was when better lying skills would come in handy. Her brain spun, trying to invent some reasonable story that didn’t involve last night’s escapade, when she’d been mistaken for a prostitute. Nothing came to her.

She sighed, forced to tell the truth. At least an abbreviated version of it.

“Actually, Aunt Eleanor, I was at Mr. Monterey’s home last night,” Caroline said. “I stopped by to see a sick friend.”

Aunt Eleanor nodded. “Oh, yes, your cousin Sophie said that you’d gone to visit someone on West Adams Boulevard.”

Caroline seethed. Darn her cousin. She’d promised not to tell. Goodness, relatives were proving to be more than inconvenient—a downright pain in the neck.

“So, who did you visit?” Aunt Eleanor asked.

Caroline pressed her lips together. “Well, actually—”

“My aunt,” Stephen said.

A wave of profound gratitude washed over Caroline. Their gazes met and Stephen Monterey suddenly took on the look of a knight in the shiniest armor ever imagined.

“My aunt Delfina,” Stephen explained. “Perhaps you know her, Mrs. Markham?”

“I’ve never had the pleasure, but I’ve heard of her, of course.” Aunt Eleanor rose from her chair. “I’ll have Bessie prepare us some tea. Caroline, do make Mr. Monterey comfortable.”

Eleanor smiled knowingly and disappeared out of the parlor.

Caroline watched her leave, then turned to Stephen, and suddenly he didn’t look like a knight in shining anything. He was smirking. Actually smirking. Oh, he was trying very hard to hide it, but that was definitely a smirk she saw on his face.

Caroline rose from the piano stool. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here about the position we discussed,” he said.

The position on the desktop? Caroline bit into her lip, forcing the image out of her head. Goodness, why couldn’t she stop thinking about that?

“The position of graphologist,” Stephen said.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“I’m here to convince you to accept my job offer,” Stephen said.

“I don’t want to work for you.”

“Everyone wants to work for me.”

He was pompous and arrogant…and devilishly good-looking. Caroline struggled to hold on to her anger against the onslaught of his masculine presence, which overwhelmed Aunt Eleanor’s delicately furnished parlor. He was far too rugged for doilies and lace.

“I, Mr. Monterey, am not everyone.” Caroline stared down at him, and it made her feel superior to do so.

That feeling lasted only a few more seconds, until Stephen rose from the settee and towered over her. He folded his arms across his chest.

“So, tell me, Miss Sommerfield, why do you refuse to come to work for me?”

There were a dozen reasons—and there were none. Caroline had lain awake most of the night reliving the short time she’d been in his house, in his presence. She’d tossed and turned, wrestling with emotions she’d never imagined before. Stephen had managed to take over most of her thoughts, somehow, and no one—not one single person—had ever done that.

He had consumed her, and the scary part was that he would continue to do so. Caroline had sensed that in him the first moment they met, even though she couldn’t put a name to the feeling at the time. He would devour her and all she believed in, until there was nothing left of herself.

Caroline eased away from him, needing the distance, hoping that space between them would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“I don’t need your job,” she said.

His brow creased. “You didn’t find work elsewhere?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I realized that if Richard Paxton, then you, would recognize my skills and offer me employment, so would someone else. It’s just a matter of time before another offer comes along.”

Stephen’s frown deepened. “Don’t be so sure about that, Miss Sommerfield. I know every businessman in the city. If the wrong type of rumor got out about you…”

Stunned, she faced him again. “You’d—you’d do that? You’d ruin me?” she demanded.

“The business world can be very ugly, Miss Sommerfield.”

“But that would be a lie! A bare-faced lie!”

Stephen glanced toward the parlor door. “Do you want your aunt back in here, asking questions?”

Caroline clamped her mouth shut, capping her anger but not stopping it.

“Won’t your aunt be surprised to learn that your real goal in coming to Los Angeles isn’t to find a husband?” he asked.

She felt violated. “How did you know that?”

“Don’t think I haven’t seen that look in her eye before, on the face of countless other aunts, mothers and grandmothers,” Stephen said. “And tell me this, Miss Sommerfield, what would your aunt say if she found out your true desire is to work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency?”

Caroline’s mouth flew open. “Who told you?”

He pressed on. “Would she be scandalized to learn that you want a job? I think she would be. In fact, she might even contact your father.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you saying these things? Why are you doing this?” She spun away and stalked to the window, struggling to hold her temper down. “You’re a wicked man,” she said.

Yes, he was. Stephen knew that because at the moment he was having some very wicked thoughts.

He walked to the window and stood behind her, as close as he dared. Her hair was done up in a knot atop her head, with a few tendrils curling loose. He wanted to lean his head down and press his mouth against that lovely neck of hers. Ease himself closer until her soft body cushioned his. Loop his arms around her and cup her breasts in his palms.

Oh, yes, he was a very wicked man.

Caroline shifted, keeping her chin high and her shoulders straight. The movement rustled her clothing, and Stephen imagined peeling away all those layers. Lace, silk, bows, ribbons, all waiting there for him to discover…and discard.

“I’m glad I slapped you last night,” Caroline said, still refusing to turn away from the window.

He deserved that slap. And he could probably use another right now. Something to bring him back to reality and restore a little sanity to his thoughts. He’d been almost continuously aroused since he’d laid eyes on her last night, and he never did his best thinking in that state. In fact, he could hardly think at all. Except about one thing.

On the way over here this morning he’d planned what he’d say to her. Richard had told him how she wanted to work for Pinkerton, and that she’d been sent to Los Angeles to find a husband. He’d intended to use that against her, threaten to tell her aunt, force Caroline to come to work for him.

Running an international corporation meant using what means were at his disposal to get what he wanted. Tough problems needed tough solutions sometimes. And that was all right with Stephen. He liked getting his way.

But this time, with Caroline, it brought him no pleasure. No business opponent had ever looked hurt before, as Caroline did. None had made him feel ashamed, as she had.

She turned then, her chin still high. Her nearness hummed through Stephen. She smelled rich and earthy. If he moved forward, just the tiniest bit, he could touch her.

Instead he forced himself to back up a step.

“It appears you’ve left me no choice,” she said.

She held herself rigid, clinging to her dignity and pride despite the fact he’d forced her to do it his way. The desire to kiss her roiled through Stephen. He wanted to replace that hurt look with pleasure, make her smile again.

But the image of Russell Pickette appeared in Stephen’s mind, along with the memory of his father. He wouldn’t let either of them get the best of him. For that he needed Caroline. And now he had her.

“All right, Mr. Monterey, I’ll accept your job,” she said. “But this is strictly business. No personal involvement of any kind.”

Stephen nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”