Читать книгу Wanted by the Boss: Sleeping with the Boss / Cowboy Boss / Billionaire Boss - Maureen Child, Kathie DeNosky - Страница 8

Three

Rick hadn’t had Mexican fast food in far too long. He didn’t remember tacos and nachos ever tasting quite so good. And he’d never considered having an indoor picnic on the floor of his office. But then maybe it wasn’t the food, he told himself. Maybe it was sharing it with Eileen. She was annoying, irritating and more entertaining than he would have guessed.

Watching her now while she talked about some of her customers, he saw her eyes flash with humor.

‘‘This one guy is a regular,’’ she was saying, and paused to take a small bite of a taco. She chewed, swallowed and said, ‘‘He’s got a standing order for a dozen roses once a week.’’

‘‘Good husband?’’ Rick ventured.

‘‘Hardly,’’ she said with a quick shake of her head. ‘‘It’s for the girl of the week. Always someone different, always a different color rose—according to their personalities, he says. But one week, he changed the order—switched to a spider plant.’’

One of Rick’s eyebrows lifted. ‘‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’’

‘‘Makes me wonder how he finds so many women willing to go out with him.’’ She sighed and leaned back, bracing her hands on the floor behind her. ‘‘His bedroom must be like an assembly line.’’

‘‘And you think I’m cynical?’’ Rick drew one knee up and rested his forearm on top.

‘‘Touché.’’ She inclined her head at him, allowing him a point.

‘‘So,’’ he asked after a long minute of silence, ‘‘how’s Bridie doing?’’

Eileen smiled. ‘‘Big sister’s doing fine,’’ she said, thinking about Bridget and her ever-growing family. ‘‘Three and a half kids and a husband she drools over. She’s disgustingly happy.’’

‘‘Three and a half?’’

‘‘Pregnant again,’’ she said with a slow shake of her head. ‘‘Hard to imagine, but Bridie just loves being pregnant and Jefferson—that’s her husband—he’s as nuts about kids as she is.’’ Eileen met Rick’s gaze. ‘‘If you guys hadn’t split up, you could have been a very busy father by now.’’

He frowned, reached for his soda and took a long drink. ‘‘No, thanks.’’ He set the large cup back onto the rug. ‘‘Tried the husband thing. It didn’t work. Besides, I’m not father material.’’

‘‘There’s that sunshiny outlook on life I’ve come to know so well,’’ Eileen said.

‘‘Touché.’’ His turn to incline his head and acknowledge her point. Then he asked, ‘‘What about you?’’

‘‘What about me?’’

‘‘You involved with anyone?’’ And why do you care? Rick asked himself. The answer was, he didn’t. Not really. It was just a polite inquiry. Didn’t matter to him one way or the other.

She sat up, dusted her palms together and gathered up her trash, stuffing it into the white paper bag. ‘‘Not lately.’’

Good, he thought even though he knew it would have been better if she were engaged. Married. Hell. A nun. ‘‘Hard to believe.’’

‘‘Why?’’ She looked up at him.

He shrugged. ‘‘It’s just…’’ He waved a hand at her. ‘‘I mean…’’

She smiled. ‘‘Are you about to give me a compliment?’’

Frowning, Rick crumpled up the last of his trash and snatched the bag from her hand to stuff his trash inside. ‘‘Stranger things have happened.’’

‘‘In science fiction movies.’’

‘‘You’re not an easy person, are you, Eyeball?’’

She tossed a wadded-up taco wrapper at him, bouncing it off his forehead. ‘‘Gran always said nothing good ever comes easy.’’

‘‘Yeah, but who knew she was talking about you?’’

Silence dropped between them. Outside the windows, the sun was setting and the low-lying clouds were shaded a deep purple and crimson. And inside, the silence kept growing, until it was a living, breathing presence in the room.

Rick stared at her and caught himself wondering what she would taste like. And he wondered if he’d be willing to stop at just one taste. That couldn’t happen though. He wouldn’t get involved with Eileen Ryan. Beyond the fact that she aroused too much emotion within him—there was the whole business of her being the granddaughter of his grandmother’s best friend.

She wasn’t the woman for a no-strings affair. She was hearth and home and family dinners. Definitely, she was hands off. There might as well have been a sign reading Keep Away tacked to her forehead.

If he was smart, he’d pay attention.

‘‘We’d better finish up that contract stuff,’’ she said, her gaze locked with his.

‘‘Right.’’ Rick nodded and pulled in a deep breath. ‘‘Otherwise, we could be here all night.’’

‘‘Probably not a good idea,’’ Eileen said softly, and licked her lips.

‘‘Yeah,’’ he said, wincing as his body tightened. ‘‘Not a good idea at all.’’

By Thursday evening, Eileen was regretting ever agreeing to this situation. She felt as if she was tightrope walking over a pit filled with hungry lions. One wrong step and she was nothing more than a quick meal.

What she needed was the weekend. Time to spend down at the beach, in her own cottage. Painting the china hutch she’d picked up at the flea market last month. Or stenciling the kitchen walls. Heaven knows, she’d been putting that off for months. There’d never been enough time to get around to all of the crafty things she liked to do. She was always too busy at the shop.

Which was why she’d been looking forward to these two weeks. With Paula, her new manager, in charge at Larkspur, Eileen could relax about the shop. It was in good hands.

Her full vacation was already shot, so she planned to make good use of at least the weekends. She’d have some breathing room. She needed to get herself far, far away from Rick Hawkins. She needed to keep busy enough that maybe she’d stop daydreaming about what she’d like to be doing with Rick. Eileen groaned quietly. All she had to do was get through today and tomorrow, and she’d have two whole days to decompress.

‘‘Eileen?’’

‘‘Yessir, boss?’’ She turned her head to watch him come through the doorway from his office.

He frowned and looked at her as she stood up, holding onto her purse and car keys as if they were life rings tossed into a churning sea. ‘‘You leaving already?’’

‘‘It’s not ‘already,’’’ she said, scooping her black cardigan off the back of her chair. ‘‘It’s after five and I’m going home.’’ She was actually running home, but didn’t feel the urge to tell him that. Back to her empty little cottage where she wouldn’t have to look into Rick’s brown eyes. Where she wouldn’t have to remind herself that she wasn’t interested in getting involved with anyone again, much less the bane of her childhood.

Slipping into her sweater, she flipped her hair out from under it, then pointed at a manila folder on her desk. ‘‘The last letters you wanted are right there. Sign them and they’ll go out in tomorrow morning’s mail.’’

‘‘Fine, but—’’

‘‘See you later.’’

‘‘Eileen.’’

His voice stopped her just three feet from the door. She gave that magic portal one longing glance, then took a deep breath and turned to face him. His hair was mussed, his tie loose and his collar opened. He looked far too good. If he suggested ordering dinner in and working late again, she’d have to say yes. She’d spend the whole meal drooling over him and then go home to be frustrated alone. But if he didn’t ask her to stay late and have dinner, she’d be disappointed because then she wouldn’t get a chance to drool over him. Oh yeah. No psychological problems here. ‘‘What?’’ She snapped out the word a little harsher than she’d planned.

‘‘You free this weekend?’’

Whoa. She reeled a little. Was he asking her what she thought he might be asking her? Not just fast-food dinner and work, but maybe a date? Maybe a movie or something else that was totally inappropriate considering they were working together? Considering their grandmothers had arranged all of this? Considering that she wasn’t in the mood for a man in her life? Ye gods. Her stomach skittered nervously. ‘‘Why?’’

‘‘I’ve got some meetings.’’

Okay, no date. Work.

‘‘Now that’s a shame,’’ she said, and sidled closer to the door.

‘‘I’ll need a secretary.’’

No way. She’d already lost two perfectly good weeks of vacation. She wasn’t about to give up her weekends, too. ‘‘Rick…’’

‘‘One meeting’s scheduled for late tomorrow morning, then all day Saturday. Maybe one Sunday morning.’’

‘‘But I don’t—’’

‘‘You’ll be paid overtime.’’

Her fingers curled around her purse strap. ‘‘That’s not the point.’’

‘‘What is?’’ he asked, folding his arms across a chest that she’d spent far too much time imagining bare. ‘‘Too scared to go away with me?’’

She laughed shortly, harshly and hoped it sounded convincing. ‘‘Yeah. That must be it—go away? Go away where?’’

‘‘Temecula.’’

‘‘In Riverside county?’’

‘‘Is there another one?’’

‘‘No, but—’’

Rick walked across the room, stared out the window for a long minute, then turned to look at her again. ‘‘Edward Harrington was my first client when I opened my business.’’ Rick shrugged. ‘‘He took a chance on me. Twice a year, I go out to Riverside to look over his portfolio and discuss changes and investments.’’

‘‘You go to him?’’

Rick smiled. ‘‘Most independents go to their customers.’’

‘‘Still. One customer’s going to take all weekend?’’

‘‘No, but Edward referred me to some of his golf buddies and I see all of them when I go out there. I’m seeing Edward tomorrow and then the others on Saturday.’’

‘‘So you work all week and then even more on the weekend.’’

‘‘Uh-huh.’’ He studied her for a long, thoughtful minute, unfolded his arms, then waved both hands at her. ‘‘You know what? Never mind. You’re right.’’

Wary now, Eileen watched him. It wasn’t like him to change tactics so suddenly. ‘‘I’m right about what?’’

‘‘I can’t ask you to go.’’

‘‘You already did,’’ she pointed out.

‘‘I take it back.’’

‘‘What?’’ she said. Turning around, he walked back into his office. She was right behind him. Rick smiled at her hurried footsteps as she raced to catch up. ‘‘You take it back?’’ she asked. ‘‘What are you, in third grade?’’

‘‘Nope.’’ He walked around behind his desk and took a seat. Keeping his gaze averted from hers, Rick shuffled through the piles of financial reports on his desk. The minute he’d asked her to go along, he’d known she’d refuse. And maybe that was how he should leave it. It’d be a hell of a lot safer. But damn it, he wanted her to go with him. Wanted her away from the office and on neutral territory. Wanted her—hell.

He just wanted her. ‘‘I’m just being logical,’’ he said. ‘‘I can handle the work without you. And you’d hate it anyway and I don’t blame you. You’d be bored.’’

‘‘Bored?’’

‘‘Sure.’’ He glanced at her. Her eyes were flashing. It was working. Damn, she hadn’t changed a bit. For one brief second, he wished he’d been wrong and that she had simply said, Okay fine. See you. Then that feeling was gone and he was prodding her again. ‘‘Besides, like I said, I can handle this alone. I’ll take a laptop with me. Type up my own notes.’’

She snorted.

He glanced at her. ‘‘I don’t need a secretary after all,’’ he went on, warming to his theme now that he was on a roll. Eileen was reacting just as he’d known she would. Just as she always had. Tell her she couldn’t do something and there was nothing she wanted to do more. Like the time when she was ten and her gran told her that she couldn’t hang on to a car bumper while on her skateboard. Naturally, she’d done it anyway, the car made a sharp right turn and Eileen had broken her wrist when she crashed into Mrs. Murphy’s trash cans.

Maybe it was a mistake to challenge her hard enough so that she would come along for the weekend, but damned if he could resist the idea. He hadn’t felt this kind of attraction for a woman before. And it was bloody hard to deny it.

Her green eyes were stormy and he could actually see thoughts and emotions pinwheeling through her mind. God, she was so easy to read. And he enjoyed it after years of looking at a woman and wondering just what the hell she was thinking behind her cool, polite mask of interest.

‘‘You don’t need a secretary?’’ she said. ‘‘You, who types with two fingers?’’

One eyebrow lifted. ‘‘Speed won’t be required. Just accuracy.’’

She frowned at him, turning that delicious-looking mouth into a pout that made him want to bite her. Oh yeah, it’d be much better—safer—if she told him no. Damn, he hoped she didn’t. ‘‘I can handle note taking. I’ll bring a tape recorder or something. You can type everything up on Monday.’’

‘‘I could go with you.’’

‘‘Well, of course you could,’’ Rick said, watching her as she leaned both hands on the front of his desk. The high collar of her business shirt dipped just a bit and he caught a tantalizingly small peek at her chest. But just that tiny glimpse was enough to make him hard—and damn grateful to be sitting behind his desk. Clearing his throat, he continued, ‘‘I’m just saying, there’s no reason to. I wouldn’t want to put you out.’’

She pushed up from the desk, planted both hands at her hips and countered, ‘‘I’m working for you. It’s part of the job.’’

‘‘I can’t ask you to go away with me for the weekend.’’ He kept arguing, knowing it was in her nature to dig in her heels. She was absolutely the most contrary woman he’d ever met. She fascinated him. ‘‘Wouldn’t be fair.’’

‘‘Fair?’’ she repeated. ‘‘Now we’re talking about fair?’’

‘‘Hey.’’ Rick leaned back in his chair, gripped the arms and said, ‘‘I’m only trying to be reasonable.’’

‘‘Uh-huh. Where’s the meeting?’’ she asked, tapping the toe of one shoe against the carpet with a staccato beat.

He hid a smile at the temper already rising inside her. He should feel guilty about manipulating her into this, but he didn’t. ‘‘Eileen, it’s not necessary for you to go.’’

‘‘I’m going.’’ She glared at him. ‘‘I’m your secretary and it’s my job.’’

‘‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’’

‘‘Deal with it,’’ she said. ‘‘Honestly, you wanted me to work for you and then when I say I am, you say no.’’

‘‘Just trying to be fair.’’

‘‘Well, quit it.’’

‘‘Okay.’’ He held up both hands and surrendered. ‘‘Didn’t know it would mean this much to you.’’

‘‘Now you know.’’

‘‘I appreciate it.’’

‘‘No problem.’’ She inhaled sharply and blew it out again in a rush. ‘‘Where do you want me to make reservations?’’

‘‘The Hammond Inn will work. Their number’s in the Rolodex.’’

‘‘Fine,’’ she said, and turned to leave the room.

‘‘Get a two-bedroom suite. We can work in the living area.’’

Eileen stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him. His brown eyes looked rich and dark and impossibly deep. Her insides twisted suddenly and she heard herself say, ‘‘I’m not going to sleep with you, you know.’’

His eyes narrowed. ‘‘Don’t recall asking you to.’’

‘‘Okay then.’’ She blew out a breath and nodded sharply. ‘‘Just so we’re clear.’’

‘‘Crystal.’’

She left his office and closed the door behind her. Then she leaned back against it and stared blankly at the ceiling. ‘‘What happened?’’ she whispered aloud. ‘‘You just gave away your weekend. What were you thinking?’’ She’d practically begged him to let her go along. And worse yet, now she’d be sharing a suite with the very man she was trying to stay away from.

‘‘Yeah, you’re doing great, Eileen,’’ she told herself and headed for her desk. She had to make the reservation before leaving for the day. Sending the Rolodex into a wild spin, she muttered, ‘‘Just great.’’

The Hammond Inn was the perfect romantic getaway. An hour and a half away from Orange County by freeway, it was a world away in feeling. The town of Temecula had started life as a stagecoach stop…and was now an interesting collection of old and new.

Many of the original buildings were still standing in old town, but the new housing developments were springing up all over everywhere like a virus run amok. Still, there were ranches and elegant old homes studding the landscape and the Hammond Inn was a perfect example.

A gracious Victorian, it had been perfectly restored to its former glory. Its wraparound porch was studded with hand-carved pillars painted a pristine white. The house itself was bright, sunshine-yellow with white trim and dark green shutters. The wide porch held clusters of white wicker furniture, inviting cozy conversations. Hanging plants hung from the overhanging roof, dotting the porch with thick green foliage. Late-blooming chrysanthemums burst into rainbows of color along the skirt of the house and lined the long walkway from the curved driveway. Maples and oaks, now boasting their brilliant fall colors, crouched around the house like protective soldiers decked out in their dress uniforms.

A cold wind swept through the hills, rattled the leaves and bowed the flowers as Eileen and Rick walked up the path.

‘‘It’s gorgeous,’’ she said, turning around to get the whole picture. Trees dotted the rolling, winter-brown hills and though new housing developments were encroaching, they were still far enough away that the inn seemed secluded. Private.

Eileen shot Rick a sidelong glance and told herself to get a grip. They weren’t here for romance. The inn was simply a temporary headquarters. They were here to conduct meetings with a few of Rick’s clients. They all lived locally and it was much easier for Rick and her to spend the weekend at the inn rather than driving the freeway to Riverside County every day.

Although, she thought, turning back around to continue walking, if they had been here for romance, they couldn’t have picked a better spot.

‘‘I like it,’’ Rick said, oblivious, thank heaven, to her thoughts. ‘‘The owners aren’t the kind to organize ‘fun’ for their guests. They leave me alone to conduct business.’’

Eileen shot him a look and shook her head. ‘‘Get down, you funky party weasel.’’

He stopped and gave her that look she was becoming all too accustomed to. It was the sort of stare you gave someone speaking a foreign language. Conveying the thought that maybe, if you listened hard enough, you’d understand. ‘‘Party weasel?’’

‘‘Funky party weasel. That was sarcasm.’’

‘‘Thought it might be.’’

Eileen waved one hand up and down in front of him. ‘‘But honestly, Rick. Look at you. You drag that gray world you work in everywhere you go.’’

He touched one of his lapels. ‘‘This is a blue suit.’’

‘‘Whoa. Cuttin’ loose.’’

One dark eyebrow lifted. She was getting used to that, too.

‘‘I’m here on business,’’ he reminded her.

‘‘You never heard of casual Friday?’’

‘‘It’s my company, we don’t have casual Friday.’’

‘‘The fact that it’s your company is the point. You could have casual Friday every day if you wanted to.’’

‘‘I don’t.’’

‘‘Hence, the gray world,’’ she said, walking again. ‘‘Life—conformity style.’’

Rick caught up with her in a couple of long strides. He was really tall—he towered over her. She liked the difference in their heights. She liked that he looked serious, but his eyes sparkled. Wow. Was that a glint of humor she saw there?

‘‘You know, some people actually dress for success.’’

She shrugged. ‘‘I figure, success means you can dress however you want to.’’

‘‘Ah, so I should be wearing jeans and a torn T-shirt.’’

‘‘Nobody said anything about torn.’’

She took the five, freshly swept steps to the porch and stopped at the top. Turning around to face him, she had to look down, since he’d stopped at the bottom. ‘‘I don’t remember you being such a stuffed shirt when you were a kid.’’

‘‘I,’’ he pointed out as he climbed the steps to stand eye level with her, ‘‘grew up.’’

She clutched her heart and grinned at him. ‘‘Cut to the bone.’’

‘‘You’re impossible, aren’t you?’’

‘‘That’s been said before.’’

‘‘Not hard to believe.’’

For several moments they stood there looking at each other. Rick broke away while Eileen was still in a sexual trance. He bounded up the rest of the steps and crossed the wide porch.

He reached out, opened the door and held it for her to pass through in front of him. His gaze dropped over her before lifting to meet hers again. ‘‘Besides, I don’t see you in jeans.’’

She smiled at him. ‘‘You will later.’’

‘‘Can’t wait.’’

Eileen stared up into his eyes and told herself to ignore the flash of heat that sizzled in those brown depths briefly before disappearing. She didn’t need this complication.