Читать книгу Sex By The Numbers - Marie Donovan - Страница 11

KEELEY PUSHED through the bakery door and dangled her wet umbrella over the mat. A spring squall had broken over the city after her intriguing phone conversation and had driven rain under her umbrella, spattering her glasses and pulling damp strands of hair loose to straggle along her cheeks.

She probably looked like something the cat dragged in, but after all, accountants didn’t get paid for their hairdos, just what was under it.

The teenage girl behind the counter greeted her with a slight Polish accent. Yum, she loved Eastern European bakeries. None of that low-fat, high-fiber, no-taste nonsense.

Maybe one treat. Since she was sitting at her desk more and more, she had to be careful of her carb intake. Hmm, chocolate chip cookies, donuts, sweet rolls, apple crisps and—ooh, cherry tarts. With a delicious sense of irony, she ordered the tart and a skinny latte.

She put her change in the tip jar and carried her coffee and sweet to a table on the side wall, where she could watch the door without being in its direct line of sight. A tall potted plant blocked her a bit, but she’d manage.

She placed a napkin on her lap and carefully bit into the tart, the flaky crust breaking apart on her tongue. The cherry filling was better than the usual canned pie filling, with vanilla and almond extracts mixed in. Delish. She really needed to treat herself more often. After all, a few extra minutes—or hours—on the elliptical trainer would take care of it.

Not quite three o’clock. Keeley’d have time to finish her tart and get down to business with Binky’s buddy, Dane. The bell over the glass door chimed, and she peeped though the leaves like Sheena, Queen of the Jungle, sizing up her prey.

Rowrrr. A big blond guy walked in, black trench coat dripping on the floor mat. He flipped his wet hair off his forehead and wiped his eyes. Keeley couldn’t exactly tell at this distance, but she guessed they were probably blue. He had the total Nordic-god, lusty-viking-raider look going on, probably several inches taller than her own five foot eleven and three quarters.

He ordered a drink and took his change with a ring-free left hand, promptly dropping the coins into the tip jar. Not a cheapskate. Then he smiled at the girl behind the counter, and dimples popped up in his cheek. She blushed and stammered, and Keeley shifted in her seat. Come on, open that trench coat. She wanted to see if he had a gut like other big guys often did.

As if he’d heard her mental begging, he undid his coat buttons. No way. No way. The trim blond hunk wearing a white shirt and red tie couldn’t be Binky Bingham’s right-hand man. She’d imagined some older guy in his forties or fifties who just happened to have a voice as sexy and sinful as dark chocolate. This guy was some coffee junkie popping in for his afternoon fix.

As if he’d felt her astonished stare, he turned to meet her eyes. Keeley froze, hunter becoming the prey as he stalked toward her through the coffee shop. For a big guy, he moved easily through the maze of tables with a loose-hipped stride.

He stopped next to her table and stared at her. His eyes were blue, after all—cool blue like a spring sky. “Is this seat taken?”

As one final test, she raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Do you have a rose?”

He grinned. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s impossible to drink coffee with a stem between my teeth.”

Bingo. “Dane Weiss?” She stood and had the unusual sensation of looking well up into a man’s face. A welcome change from having short guys staring into her cleavage. “Keeley Davis.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He set his coffee on the table and enfolded her hand in his own large one. Her fingers, almost always chilly, tingled as he warmed them. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

Just long enough to get herself all hot and bothered. “Not at all. It was nice to get out of the office for a break. I usually push myself pretty hard.”

“Me, too.” He released her hand, and she missed his warmth. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.” She nodded at the seat across from her. He sat on the small wooden chair, testing his size on it first before settling all the way. It looked like a child’s chair under him.

“Cherry tart?”

“What do you mean?” Sugar hadn’t told Binky about her, had she? She promised she wouldn’t.

He gestured at her pastry. “I see you like cherry tarts.”

“Oh. Yes.” No reason to get defensive. “They’re my favorites.”

“Mine, too. I grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin, and we have several cherry trees in the orchard. My mom makes the best cherry jam, pies, tarts, you name it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had fresh cherry pie.” She’d mostly grown up on snack pies her mother had brought home from the convenience store.

“You don’t know what you’re missing. The fruit explodes on your tongue, a bit tangy at first, but then mellowing into pure sweetness.”

Keeley tried not to gape at him. My God, the man should be narrating erotica audiobooks. Cherries exploding into pure sweetness on his tongue? She really, really wanted to see that tongue in action. “You sound like you miss it. Would you like some of mine?” She pushed her plate toward him.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t eat your sweets on you.”

Oh, yes, he could. “Really, go ahead. It’s a big tart.” And so, apparently, was she. Old habits died hard.

He smiled at her the way he’d smiled at the teenage counter girl. Friendliness, but nothing more. “Just a small taste.”

She didn’t want friendliness. She wanted him to feel the same achy awareness that he was stirring in her. And during tax season, of all times. “Take as much as you want. Big men like you have big appetites.”

He gave a quick blink at that statement, but broke off half the tart and took a bite with white teeth that had obviously received above and beyond the recommended daily allowance of dairy products. “Mmmm, not as good as Mom’s, but still delicious.”

“Isn’t it?” She swirled her finger through the cherry filling and slowly sucked it clean. He sipped his coffee, the only hint of interest a slight flaring of his nostrils.

Good grief, the only way she could be any more obvious was if she unbuttoned her boring, off-white blouse and flashed him her rack. But she did admire self-control. Such a rare quality in a man.

DANE DRANK his coffee, hoping his rain-dampened hair would mask the fact that he’d started sweating at the sight of Keeley sucking cherry filling off her finger. “So about the project.”

“Yes.” She flipped open her leather-bound notepad, all business now. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He quietly filled her in on Binky’s suspicions of his grandson and she nodded as she took notes. “I see,” she began. “The subject of your investigation is the chief financial officer who has access to pretty much every account in the company, but other people obviously have access as well.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“And you? Do you have access to those accounts?” She gave him a hard stare. “Any girlfriends who work there and have access to those accounts?”

He grinned. She was no fool. But if he were the thief, he would never hire a sharp cookie like her. “No, no girlfriends who work there. I’ve never worked there before and have had absolutely no access to any of their funds. I will as soon as I start as acting controller, but if you take the job you’ll be able to look over my shoulder and keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“I was wondering how you were going to get me in. Or can you download the accounts for me to look at off-site?”

“No, you’ll have to do the audit on-site. It might tip the thief off if I come on board as controller-in-training and start taking specific account information home right away.”

“So I’ll come in after hours and audit?”

“Not exactly.” Dane took a deep breath. “Binky suggested you work at the company as my executive assistant.”

She looked as if she’d swallowed a cherry pit. “You want me to be your secretary?”

“My executive assistant,” he corrected, knowing semantics were futile.

“Ha. Big difference.” She crumpled her napkin and tossed it on the table.

Not good. If she turned him down, he’d have to find another reputable accountant, delaying Binky’s peace of mind even further. “The audit is your first priority. Believe me, I’m not going to send daily memos or write the company’s annual report.”

“That would be fun. ‘Dear esteemed clients of Bingham Brothers, please disregard any minor discrepancies in your holdings. We are working diligently to discover which of our trusted executives has his or her hand in the till. Sincerely, the management.’”

He laughed. Sure, it was an awful situation, but her humor helped lighten things.

Keeley’s regretful expression was obvious. “I’d really like to help you, but I don’t think it would work. I’ve met Charlie Bingham several times at financial networking events. I doubt he’d recognize me immediately, but he would if I spent all day in his office for several weeks.”

“Damn.” Dane frowned. He hadn’t considered that. Leaning back in his chair to give the situation some thought, he immediately straightened when one of the legs creaked ominously. Coffeehouse chairs were either made for skinny city guys who subsisted on caffeine alone or women like the one sitting across from him.

Hmm. Under that bulky brown jacket, her tucked-in white blouse revealed a slender waist and her long skirt showed some firm calves, if not her thighs.

She cleared her throat and his gaze flew to her face. Instead of the demure blush he expected at his less-than-subtle examination, she merely looked sardonic. “Did you get a good look?”

Not hardly, but he wasn’t going to say that. “Don’t take this the wrong way—”

“Oh, I love it when men start a sentence with that disclaimer.”

“Okay, okay.” He backed off. “What I was going to ask, have you usually worn outfits like that when you met Charlie Bingham?”

“No, he took me to prom. Of course, he’s seen my work clothes.” She peered over her glasses at him as if he were an idiot, but he forged onward.

“What if you had different clothes?”

“What?”

“Not accountant clothes—younger, lighter outfits.”

“More…revealing?” Her voice dipped into the husky range. She brushed her fingers over her blouse’s top button and unfastened it. She crossed her legs under the glass-topped table and hiked her skirt to her knee. She’d uncovered maybe three inches of skin in total, but Dane still found it arousing. She leaned forward, her attention totally on him. “Dane, do you want me to play dress-up for you?”

“More like a makeover,” he managed to say, wondering where the sex-kitten persona had come from.

Just as quick as he wondered, she switched back to frowning CPA. “A makeover? Who do you think you are? Pygmalion? Professor Henry Higgins? The guys from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?”

“Hey! I meant disguise, not makeover.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know, like wearing contacts instead of glasses, maybe letting your hair down, wearing less brown…” His voice trailed off into a silent sigh. He’d handled this situation with all the finesse of the farm-fresh hayseed he used to be—or even worse, his dad’s bull Caesar. “Look, I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t want to take this job after this awkward beginning, but if you do want it, it’s yours, disguise or no.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “You don’t know me, and you’re trusting me with such a big project.”

“I did check you out.”

“You did? And what did you find?”

“I verified your credentials, lack of criminal record, the basics.”

“Ah.” She nodded, relaxing the tiniest bit.

Had he missed something? His P.I. had done a routine check on her. Then he looked at her calm expression and decided to drop it. Maybe she’d gotten into trouble as a teenager, records he didn’t have access to. Unless she’d done juvie time for embezzlement, he didn’t really care. “And Sugar’s recommendation carries a lot of weight. That woman is a walking financial calculator.”

Instead of reassuring her, she frowned again. “How do you know Sugar?”

Ah, she was probably wondering if he was one of Sugar’s lap-dance clients. “Not from her work, at least not directly. She models for my sister Bridget’s lingerie line.”

She grinned. “Oh, yes. ‘Bras by Brigitte.’”

“Yeah. That’s it.” Silly fake-French marketing ploy, but sales were taking off.

“I’ll have to look for some of her designs when I’m shopping. For my makeover.”

It took him a second. “You mean you’ll do it? That’s great!”

She raised a slim hand. “Don’t get all excited yet. Binky Bingham is going to pay me big-time.”

“Hey, he wouldn’t expect anything less.” Binky was used to paying women lots of money.

Her next words proved she knew Binky’s habits as well. “I don’t accept cash, especially tightly rolled fifties. He can write me checks at the beginning, middle and end of the audit, with additional billing if I get involved in legal proceedings.”

“And he’ll pay for any clothing you may need to do the job.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A clothing allowance? Maybe I will get one of your sister’s pricey bras. Sugar says they’re so comfortable, you practically feel naked.”

A naked Keeley? Images of Keeley undressed like the brunette stripper from Frisky’s tumbled around his head. He never mixed business with pleasure, and Binky’s business was important. Dane didn’t need to ask himself what was wrong—he already knew.

“Dane?” Her questioning voice broke into his confusion. “Here, take a napkin before your pants get stained.”

“What?” He looked in horror at the paper napkin she offered him. Sure, she was turning him on, but he wasn’t even close to staining anything.

With an exasperated sigh, she dropped the napkin on the table in front of him and soaked up a puddle of coffee. “Your cup is leaking.”

“Oh.” He didn’t realize he’d crumpled his paper cup while imagining her naked. He grabbed more napkins and mopped the mess. Lucky he’d almost finished his coffee. “So, Keeley. Tax season is almost over. When can you start working at Bingham Brothers?”

“April fifteen is next Wednesday. After that, I need a couple days off to shop and catch up on my sleep. I’ve been getting by on four or five hours a night, and I want to spend all day in bed if I feel like it.”

Boy, did he feel like spending all day in bed with her. He nodded brusquely. “Will the following Monday work for you?”

“Monday, it is.”

“Good. I’ll courier over a check for your advance and clothing allowance, and I’ll expect you at 8:00 a.m. sharp at Bingham Brothers. Wear your new clothes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir, Mr. Weiss. I’ll practice my shorthand over the weekend in case you want to give me your dictation.”

Man, did she have to use that word? “Not necessary.” He passed her his business card. “My cell number’s on the front. Call me with any questions.”

“I think I have an idea of what you need.”

He sincerely hoped not.

She stood, shimmied her skirt to midcalf and picked up her raincoat. He rose and they shook hands again. “I’ll leave first. We don’t want to be seen together.”

“Good idea.” He felt foolish about the cloak-and-dagger stuff but that didn’t keep him from admiring her ass as she strolled away. Her plain brown pumps had enough of a heel to add just the right amount of wiggle, and the watery sunlight lit the strands of caramel-colored hair that escaped from her bun. She paused before opening the door and looked over her shoulder to catch him staring. He gave a feeble little wave and her lips curved in a small smile.

Then she pushed out the door and disappeared among the busy pedestrian traffic.

Dane exhaled loudly. Had Keeley been trying to arouse him on purpose? If so, she’d done a good job. Talking about his big appetites hadn’t helped any, either. He did have big appetites, and not just for fine food, but for fine women.

But now he had the sneaking suspicion that he could eat a whole can of cherry filling off another woman’s naked body, and that wouldn’t have the same impact on him as the sight of Keeley’s pink tongue licking her finger clean. Dammit, dammit, dammit.