Читать книгу Slow Hands - Leslie Kelly - Страница 9

“EXCUSE ME, MISS TURNER, there’s someone to see you.”

Madeline looked up from her desk as her administrative assistant, Ella, peeked around the partially open door to her office. Being addressed as Miss Turner tipped her off to her young employee’s unusually somber mood. Most times, the efficient-but-bubbly young woman would have buzzed her, reminded her of an appointment, then snapped a quick, naughty joke. Ella liked nothing better than leaving Madeline with an inappropriate grin on her face as some staid business visitor entered her office.

This time, though, Ella sounded subdued, almost awed, and wore a facial expression to match.

“Oh, damn, is it the congressman again? I told him we weren’t increasing his line of credit.”

The other woman shook her head slowly. “Nope. A stranger.” Clearing her throat, she blinked a few times, as if trying to physically shake off her dazed mood. After a few seconds, she grinned. And when she began speaking in a rush, Maddy realized her real assistant was back in the building.

“Look, I just have to say, if this is a sales guy running a scam and he doesn’t really know you and doesn’t really have an appointment, I will so totally take him off your hands. I’ll whisk him out of here, no problem. Show him the door, follow him out, go somewhere private and whip him into shape. Give him a good, stern talking-to about coming by without appointments.” Her expression verging between lustful and hopeful, she added, “It would probably take hours and hours. Maybe the whole weekend.”

Ella wasn’t exactly the most professional bank employee in the world, but she was by no means flighty. Which meant whoever Maddy’s visitor was, he had to be someone capable of turning a normal, levelheaded young woman into a jazzed-up, sexed-up, babbling twit.

“Oh, hell,” she whispered, knowing who was standing right outside her door. Only one man she’d met recently was capable of sucking every brain cell from a woman’s head within two minutes of meeting her.

Considering she’d dreamed about him for the past two nights—hot, Grey’s Anatomy inspired dreams of her being the filling in a triple decker McSteamy, McDreamy and McGigolo sandwich—she should be feeling McPanicked and McCornered. He’d almost surely be able to read the guilty embarrassment on her face the moment he spotted her.

Somehow, though, she could only muster anticipation and excitement. But she knew that all he’d see on her face was interest and admiration that he’d tracked her down—and sought her out—so quickly.

“Show him in,” she murmured, knowing she had about thirty seconds, the time it would take Ella to walk out and Number Nineteen to walk in. Just enough time to touch her hair, smooth her blouse and cross her legs.

She uncrossed them and slid her chair under her desk as soon as he entered. Her skirt wasn’t too short. It was perfectly businesslike, in fact. But the pose seemed a little too blatant…inviting. As if she wanted to encourage him sexually, letting him know he’d been all she’d had on her mind since the moment she’d met him.

That she did, and he was didn’t change her decision to go for professional rather than come-hither.

“Hi,” he said. “Found ya.”

“So you did, Mr. Wallace.”

“Nice to see you again…Miss Turner.” He glanced around her cluttered office, at the shelves laden with books and files and the stack of documents awaiting her signature in her in-box. Then he gazed past her at the window overlooking the city, one of the best views in the high-rise building. Whistling, he murmured, “I guess you do have a real job.”

“What made you think I didn’t?”

He met her stare, saying nothing.

“Okay,” she acknowledged with a grudging smile. “I don’t suppose many of the bidders from the auction work on much more than their tans.”

“But you don’t have one. Meaning you obviously work too much.”

“It could be that I’m naturally pale-skinned and prone to burning.” And that she hadn’t had one of those lazy summer days on her father’s boat since last summer. She was going to have to remedy that.

“I somehow suspect you spend twelve hours a day in here and just wave at the sun from your window as it goes by.”

Smart man. And one who was right now making himself at home, sitting in a chair opposite her desk without being asked. Her office almost seemed to shrink around him, as if his big body had sucked up all the spare particles of air, leaving the two of them cloaked tightly in intimacy.

Thank God for the desk. If it hadn’t been between them, Maddy might have been tempted to slide her chair closer, until their knees touched. Or their thighs. Or their mouths.

Stop it.

“Why’d you ditch me?”

“Why did you pursue me?”

“Ha. I asked you a complicated question and you asked me a very simple one.” He grinned. “I tracked you down because I owe you a date and I am not a welsher.”

That was all. He wasn’t a welsher. Well, didn’t she just feel special, like an average everyday poker player waiting for a fivedollar payoff.

“Now, your turn.”

“It isn’t necessarily complicated.” She arched a brow and managed a bored tone. “Maybe I ditched you because I wasn’t interested.”

His grin still confident, he immediately dispelled that possibility. “Twenty-five thousand bucks is a whole lot of disinterest.”

“It’s for a worthy cause.”

“So why didn’t you bid on somebody else early in the evening and get out right away?”

“What makes you think I didn’t? Maybe you were my second-to-the-last chance to make a difference, so I made an outrageous bid.”

“You didn’t bid on anybody else.” He leaned toward her desk, dropping his elbows on its surface. “Admit it.” The position sent muscle surging against cotton as his casual, washedout T-shirt hugged his arms. The flexing of his tanned skin against the black fabric was almost impossible to tear her gaze away from. She honestly didn’t think she’d ever seen a more powerfully built man in person.

She knew she’d never slept with one.

Most of the men Maddy had had sex with had been wiry young college guys who wanted any female they could get—especially wealthy, heiress females—or pale, soft businessmen she met in her usual circle. Those men—men like Oliver, her ex-lover, whom she’d kicked out of her life a year and a half ago—were generally toned from their weekend tennis game or occasional golf tournaments. Or, in Oliver’s case, from his frequent ski trips with his “best friend” Roddy.

That Roddy had been a nickname for Rhonda, a twenty-yearold ski bunny, had been something he’d failed to mention. Maddy had found out the hard way when she’d decided to surprise him one weekend. She’d found Oliver in his room, engaging in some serious downhill action with the snow ho.

There were no skis involved, but his pole had been getting quite a workout.

She thrust away the memory, acknowledging that in the several months she’d dated the man, she’d never looked at him and immediately lusted the way she did with the guy sitting on the other side of her desk. Jake Wallace had the kind of massive, rock-solid body women dreamed existed but never expected to see in real life.

And she coveted it. As he’d been coveting the other night.

“I don’t think you bid on anyone else,” he murmured, speaking softly, as if aware she’d been struck a little brainless. “I was watching you from behind the curtain for a long time.”

Feeling a bubble of air lodge in the center of her throat, Maddy struggled to swallow it down, but couldn’t quite manage it.

He had been watching her. Watching. Her. With all the tall, elegant, skinny women in the room, she’d caught his eye…and had apparently kept it.

In some contexts, hearing a man saying he’d been “watching her” could creep a woman out. But this didn’t. Just the way his hungry stare hadn’t the night they’d met.

Instead, once again, he appeared so…honest. Open about his feelings. Jake sounded both confident and almost surprised by his own admission, as if he hadn’t meant to reveal his immediate interest in her, even though his presence here in her office confirmed it.

He’s a pro at making women feel this way, a small voice in her head reminded her.

“I even started asking the universe to let you be the one to win me,” he admitted.

Startled into laughter, Maddy knew exactly what he meant. Tabitha had recently been touting the brilliance of the same selfhelp bestseller. She swore it was the reason she’d landed her latest fiancé, a well-known Chicago hotelier, who was nice, a bit dull, but richer than an oil baron.

“You don’t strike me as the type who needs any secret when it comes to winning over a woman, Mr. Wallace.”

“I obviously needed to find out one secret…your identity.”

Smooth.

“Fortunately, like Cinderella, you left a clue behind.”

“I think I had both shoes on my feet when I got home.”

“Your check. With your signature.”

Frowning, she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “They gave you my check?”

“Just a quick peek. Then a helpful stranger told me the rest of what I needed to know.”

How kind of the stranger.

Honestly, though, considering she was edgy and excited, her pulse a little fast, her heart beating a little hard, maybe it had been a kindness. Maddy hadn’t dated anyone in a long time. The last scene with her ex had burned itself on her brain and left her skeptical of the sweet promises of any man. Oliver’s final words—when he’d insisted they could still be a great team with her money and his family connections, with no messy, intimate “emotions” attached—had replayed in her mind many times since then.

She was a suitable candidate for the position of Oliver’s wife, with an acceptable pedigree and lots of cash. A great business prospect. Nothing more.

Ouch.

“Everybody knows everybody in your circle, huh?”

“It’s the world’s biggest small pond.”

“Yawn.”

“You’ve no idea.”

“So come swim outside the reef with me. You might not be surrounded by your colorful, tropical kind, but sometimes us plain old trout can be entertaining.”

Maddy couldn’t help chuckling again. The man was just cute. As if he could be plain old anything. “You know, lately, I’ve been sticking to the shallows.”

“Double yawn. Come on, take a chance.”

Uh-uh. The shallows suited her fine. Here she could safely ignore any thoughts of her personal life. Along with working insane hours, she’d been dealing with the usual family crises, including Tabby’s upcoming wedding. The social functions she attended were more a matter of courtesy and professionalism than pleasure and the men she met at them always fell into two camps—the boring and proper, or the greedy, who saw dollar signs on her forehead.

The first type could never catch her interest. The second made her skin crawl. None of them could ever make her consider swimming out into those romance waters again. She just wasn’t interested.

Until now.

Yes. Until now. This man had slowed her down, made her think, made her aware of herself for the first time in ages. For that, at least, she owed him thanks. Because though she still had no intention of letting anything happen between her and a paid companion, she had at least begun to wonder if she should accept a few more invitations, get out more and perhaps meet someone else who could get her heart tripping and her palms damp. And maybe even her panties.

She’d guard her heart, set out for some physical satisfaction and never let herself be hurt. As long as she went into it with that in mind, it could be possible for her to have some kind of sex life again.

With him.

“No,” she whispered. Not with him. Because, while his career might actually be a benefit, given the no-strings, pleasure-only kind of affair she suddenly had in mind, her reaction to him was already way too personal, too strong and intimate for her to feel comfortable. He made her laugh, he made her blush, he made her palms sweat. And she could not be one hundred percent sure his feelings were genuine and not merely evidence of how good he was at what he did.

Ergo, he was out of the question as a potential easy, sex-and-go fling.

“No?” he said, obviously hearing her whisper. “You really mean that?” Before she could say yes, he quickly continued. “Because even if you didn’t set out to buy a date and you were only supporting the charity,” he said, sounding as though he only half believed that, “I did not go into it that way. I agreed to a date and I’m trying to live up to my end of the bargain here.”

“Your bargain…”

“I made a promise to the organizers of the auction and my promise is like my handshake. My dad would clobber me if I didn’t stand by either one of them. So that’s what I am going to do.”

Whether you like it or not. He didn’t say the words. But she heard them just the same.

Maddy noted the challenge, realized he was throwing down a gauntlet, daring her to not live up to her end of the bargain. And her competitive spirit rose. She might have been raised in a mansion, but the owner of that mansion had been Jason Turner, who had his financial hands spread over half the city and his fingers touching the other half. He kept them there by shrewdness and sheer will. Something else she’d inherited from her dad.

She suspected their fathers would get along well.

“All right then,” she said, meeting his stare, “so will I.”

“You won’t regret it,” he said, his eyes darkening even further as he stared at her, raking his gaze from her hair to her cheek, then to her mouth and her throat in a look more appreciative than predatory.

She already regretted it. How had she let herself be dared into saying yes?

She opened her mouth to lay down a few ground rules for their “date.” It would be brief, platonic and completely romance-free, without question. She fully intended to meet him at the ball field and leave immediately after the last out of the night. And that would be the end of it.

No touching. No sexy looks. None of those cute jokes that made the stupid dimples on her face put in an appearance. And from here on out, her palms were staying dry. So were her private parts.

Before she could say anything, however, they were both startled by the sudden opening of Maddy’s office door.

“Maddy, I need to talk to you about…oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had an appointment. Your secretary’s not outside and your calendar was clear.”

Maddy leaped from her seat so quickly her chair went sliding backward against the wall. Her father had just entered the room, carrying a folder and wearing his “We have a problem” look that usually meant they were skipping lunch.

He quickly forgot his problem though, as he stared curiously at Jake Wallace. Maybe because nobody had been on her electronic appointment calendar. Maybe because the dark-haired man was smiling too intimately to be a client looking for a loan. Maybe because Maddy was so flustered. Or maybe because the heated tension in her office was about as thick as the stack of her father’s prenups and divorce notices.

Which was pretty damn thick.

“Dad!” she said, wondering how her day could have gone downhill so rapidly. No more words came out of her mouth. Her brain had just emptied, probably because the whole reason she’d attended the bachelor auction was to keep her father’s wife out of this man’s bed.

Jake stood, saving her from having to say anything. But when he spoke, Maddy wondered whether he’d done her any favors at all.

“I’m not an appointment,” he said, smiling at her father, comfortable and at ease as he rose to extend his hand. “I’m Madeline’s date, and I’m here to take her to lunch.”

“I THINK your father likes me.”

Jake didn’t have to hear the annoyed, huffy little sound Madeline Turner made to know she wasn’t happy about that. He could still picture the mortification on her face when her father, the very well-known Jason Turner, had practically pushed her out the door with her lunch “date” after offering Jake a hearty handshake and a broad smile.

Funny, he’d have thought coming face-to-face with one of the wealthiest men in Chicago would have been at least slightly intimidating. Jason Turner might not be known nationwide, but there wasn’t a person in Chicago who hadn’t heard of the rich philanthropist, a man who was as well-known for his charitable works as for his stormy love life.

Jake hadn’t been intimidated, though. Maybe it was because he’d seen enough accident scenes, helped enough crime victims, responded to enough tragedies, that he realized all the money in the world didn’t mean a damn thing when it came to stopping a bullet or avoiding flying through the windshield of a car.

Everyone bled the same—red. There was no such thing as blue blood. Which was, perhaps, why he also felt entirely at ease in his pursuit of Madeline Turner, who the society pages liked to call the Ice Queen of the Financial District. He’d found that out in the two days since the auction. He’d been doing some research.

Personally, she wasn’t a bit icy. Confident and a little unreachable? Sure. But not cold.

Professionally? Well, he really didn’t give a damn what she was like behind that fancy desk at work. He didn’t want her for her connections to a major Chicago bank. He wanted her for the excitement he’d felt in his gut from the moment he’d peered at her from behind the black drapes at the auction the other night. And he wanted to know what had been behind her tension and her determination, which hadn’t been able to disguise her innate earthy sensuality.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said as they reached the corner of Madison and State, heading for the closest lunch café. “Despite his business reputation, my father is a hopeless romantic, who’d love to see me settle down. He’d be happy if an intoxicated mime in full makeup came to take me to lunch, as long as he was single and breathing.”

“I hate mimes.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I mean, what kind of kid thinks ‘Gee, when I grow up, I wanna paint my face and annoy people for a living.’”

She raised a droll brow. “One who wants to be a clown?”

“I think I’d feel better if my kid said he wanted to be a lawyer.”

“Perish the thought,” she said with an exaggerated shudder.

“I’ve never seen a drunk one, though. That might be entertaining.”

“You obviously don’t lunch at the Chicago Club with all the rest of the high-priced defense attorneys.”

“I meant the mime,” he explained, enjoying sparring with her, liking the smart comebacks and that smile lurking on her mouth. What he most wanted now was a full frontal attack of those gorgeous dimples and that light laugh he just knew was hiding behind the twitching lips and the twinkling eyes.

“Watching them fall and not be able to get up in their invisible box might be fun.”

It finally worked, he got her to relax. “You’re right.” A tiny grin appeared, finally widening into that brilliant smile, complete with a flash of those dimples. God, she had the kind of smile that could stop traffic. She was absolutely made for it.

Among other things.

Feeling even more confident about his sneaky way of getting her to have lunch with him, he took her arm as the light changed. Instinct. Good manners toward females had been hammered into him from the time he was old enough to understand what the words put the seat down meant.

One good thing—she didn’t flinch. A second one—she didn’t pull away, either. It was something, at least.

“So your dad’s a real romantic, huh?” The image didn’t quite fit with the “ruthless mogul” the papers made him out to be.

“Don’t go there.”

“Touchy subject?”

“His romantic track record’s not exactly one for the books. Yet he still wants everything to be roses and fairy tales, true love all around, as impossible as that may be.”

They crossed the street with the rest of the streaming flow of humanity. On a sunny summer afternoon, everyone stepped outside to bask in the sunlight. And many of them did it at Millennium Park. That was where he intended to take Madeline after they grabbed a take-out lunch. He sensed she wasn’t the picnicking type, especially in the middle of a workday, but he intended to try to convince her, anyway.

“Why is it impossible?” he asked as they stepped onto the opposite sidewalk.

“What?” she asked, glancing up at him in confusion, obviously having forgotten what she’d just said.

That said a lot. Mainly that she didn’t think about love very often. He tucked the realization away, knowing he’d have to get to know this woman bit by bit, piece by piece, because that was all she was going to allow until she let her guard down.

“Why is falling in love impossible?”

She sighed as they continued walking. “Falling in love isn’t the problem,” she murmured. “It’s the staying in love part that I don’t have much faith in.”

“I have two parents, four grandparents, and about fifty aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who’d say you’re wrong about that.”

She finally turned to really look at him, a hard, skeptical glint appearing in those big brown eyes. That was when he knew—the woman had been burned. Badly. The realization made something twist inside him, deep down, to the nice-guy core who detested the jerks who hurt women.

“And I have a father, a sister, a couple of former stepmothers, several cousins, aunts, uncles and friends who say I’m right.”

He gaped. “Not a single successful marriage in the bunch?”

Her gaze shifted, her lashes lowering over suddenly sad eyes. “My parents were supposedly happy.”

Confused, he waited for her to continue.

“My mother died when I was very young. My father once said the years he spent with her were the most blissful of his life.”

“So it is possible.”

“They were only married for five years before she got sick.”

“God, you’re a pessimist.”

“And you’re an optimist?”

“Hell, yes. My glass may only hold beer instead of champagne, but it’s almost always half full.”

Jake had seen too much sadness and tragedy in his work to let himself feel anything but intensely grateful for all the good things in his life. His family, the great childhood, his job, his friends.

And now…well, now, maybe Madeline Turner. If only she’d let him get close enough to find out.

“So, what do you want to grab for lunch?” he asked, still not telling her he intended to get her to the park so she could unwind, unbend, maybe let her guard down a little.

He wanted to see the breeze off the lake blowing in her hair. Wanted to see another genuine smile, maybe even a flash of unguarded interest, as he’d seen in her eyes earlier in her office. Just like the flash that she had obviously seen the other night when they’d met.

Women hated being objectified, he knew that. And Jake had never—ever—treated any woman like a sexy body with a head stuck on it. But pausing to appreciate the soft, mouthwatering curves on this particular one had been as instinctive to him as drawing in his next breath of fresh June air.

She’d noticed. He’d noticed her noticing. Even now his hands tightened and his mouth hungered at the thought of watching her shimmy out of that glittering blue cocktail dress she’d had on.

He’d wager she’d been wearing something very black, very silky and very sinful underneath it. The thought of exactly what that might have looked like against the unbelievably lush curves of her body had been enough to keep his imagination racing and his libido roaring throughout the long, sleepless night after she’d left.

He sensed tonight wouldn’t be much better, though she couldn’t look more different than she had then. Today, dressed in her businesswoman’s armor—a tailored light blue suit, silky blouse, skirt short enough to show a stunning pair of legs, but not so short that she’d send a man into cardiac arrest—she looked entirely in control. Every hint of the sexy, almost-impulsive woman who’d cut through all the bullshit games and bid a small fortune for an evening with him was gone. She had been replaced by a smooth, impeccably mannered businesswoman.