Читать книгу The Bridal Suite - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 6

CHAPTER TWO

DANA was neck-deep in work.

Unfortunately, none of it was hers. She was too busy fixing up Dave’s disasters to pay any attention to her own stuff.

Her tiny cubicle was crowded with files, and her desk was strewn with papers. Memos fought for space with a clutter of computer disks and Styrofoam cups. “The Neat Freak,” Dave had dubbed her long before he’d gotten his promotion, but neatness had gone the way of the dodo bird. How could you be neat, when the world was crashing down around your ears?

She’d spent the past hour hunched over the keyboard, hoping to find a way to debug the latest problem in the code. Dana’s fingers raced across the keyboard. Numbers scrolled down the screen of her monitor. She paused, scanned the numbers, then hit the “enter” key.

“Please,” she said under her breath, “let it be right.”

It wasn’t.

Not that she’d expected it would be. Mistakes, not miracles, were too often the inevitable result in the wonderful world of computing.

If only Griffin McKenna could get that through his thick skull....

His thick, handsome skull.

Dana muttered a word McKenna surely wouldn’t have approved hearing a woman say. She glared at the monitor. Then she sighed, sat back and reached for the closest Styrofoam cup. An inch of black sludge sloshed in the cup’s bottom. She made a face, held her breath, and glugged it down. After a minute, she looked at the monitor again.

McKenna’s face, complete with its smug, self-confident smirk, seemed to flicker like a ghostly apparition on the screen.

“That’s right,” she said. “Smile, McKenna. Why wouldn’t you? The world is your oyster.” Angrily, she tapped the keys again, deleting the numbers, but McKenna’s image still lingered. “I should have quit,” she muttered. “I should have told that man exactly what he can do with this job.”

It wasn’t too late. She could pick up the phone, dial his office...

She was reaching for the receiver when the phone rang.

“Hello,” she snarled.

“Dana?”

It was Arthur. Dana shut her eyes.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

“Were you expecting someone else, my dear?”

Dana shot a glance at the monitor, as if she half expected to find McKenna’s face still etched onto the glass.

“No,” she said. “No, not at all. I just—I’m, ah, I’m awfully busy just now, Arthur, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Of course, Dana. I only wanted to say hello.”

“Hello, then,” she said, trying not to sound brusque, “and now, if you’ll excuse me...”

“Will I see you this evening?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes. I mean...”

Dammit. She was being rude, and she was babbling, and it was all because of McKenna. She flashed another quick look at the screen. He was still there, smirking. She stuck out her tongue, then rolled her eyes. What had happened to the rational thought process she was so proud of?

“Arthur.” She took a deep breath. “Are you free for lunch? Because if you are, could you meet me at...” Dana paused and did a mental run-through of the restaurants between Arthur’s office and hers. McKenna might eat in any one of them, and he was the last person she wanted to see right now. “At Portofino,” she said, plucking the name out of the air. It was a name she recalled from a recent review in the Times.

“Portofino. Of course. But...all you all right, Dana?”

“I’m fine. It’s just... It’s just that I need you.”

“Oh, my dear,” Arthur said, and she didn’t realize he might have gotten the wrong impression until she was on her way out the door.

But by then, it was too late.

Griffin had been in a lot of restaurants in his life, but never in one that reminded him of a chapel.

If only he’d been paying attention when Cynthia had turned up unexpectedly at his office, smiling her perfect smile, looking as if she’d just stepped out of a bandbox—whatever the hell that might be—asking if he’d like to join her for lunch.

Sure, he’d said, even though he knew he should have come up with some excuse because Cynthia was beginning to push things a little too hard. But his thoughts had been on Dana Anderson, and how much pleasure there’d be in firing her, and the next thing he’d known, he and Cynthia had been standing inside this super-trendy, self-conscious watering hole where violins violined and trysters trysted.

“What is this place?” he’d muttered.

“It’s called Portofino,” Cynthia had whispered, giving him a tremulous smile. “Your mother said the Times gave it a terrific write-up.”

My mother, the matchmaker, Griffin had thought grimly, but he’d managed to smile. Apparently, it was time for another little chat. Marilyn McKenna was wise, sophisticated and channing...but she never gave up. She had decided, a couple of years before, that it was time he married and settled down, and she’d switched her considerable energies from her newest charity to getting him to do just that. Poor Cynthia didn’t know it, but she was his mother’s latest attempt at moving him toward the goal.

“If you’d rather go someplace else,” Cynthia had said, her perfect smile trembling just a little...

“No,” Griffin had said, because that was exactly what’d he been thinking. “No, this is fine.”

It wasn’t fine. The Times might love Portofino but as far as he was concerned, the place was a total loser. He liked being able to identify the food on his plate, something you could not do in the artificial twilight of the restaurant, and if the captain or the sommelier or the waiter slid by one more time, smiling with oily deference and asking, sotto voce, if everything were all right, he was going to say no, by God, it wasn’t, and would somebody please turn up the lights, dump half the bordelaise sauce off what might yet prove to be a slab of rare roast beef, and take away these flowers before he started listening for a Bach fugue to come drifting from the kitchen?

Griffin smothered a sigh. The truth was that he’d do no such thing. He’d come here of his own free will, which made paying the consequences for his stupidity an obligation.

The captain had seated them at a table for two behind the perfect fronds of an artificial palm tree. The fronds had dipped into his soup and his salad. Now, they were dipping into his beef.

“Isn’t this romantic?” Cynthia sighed.

“Yes,” Griffin said bravely, brushing aside a frond. “Yes, it is.”

“I just knew you’d like it,” Cynthia said, batting her lashes.

He’d never noticed that before, that she batted her lashes. He’d read the phrase in books but until this moment, he hadn’t thought about what it meant. Blink. Blink, blink. It looked weird. Did all women do that, to get a man’s attention? He couldn’t imagine the Anderson woman doing it. She’d probably never batted a lash in her life.

“Griffin?”

Griffin looked up. Cynthia was smiling at him. Nothing new there; she almost always smiled at him. Not like the charming Ms. Anderson, who always glared.

“Griffin.” Cynthia gave a tinkling little laugh and cocked her head at a pretty angle. “You seem to be a million miles away.”

“I’m sorry, Cyn.” Griffin cleared his throat. “I, ah, I keep thinking about that conference.”

“The one in Florida? Your mother mentioned it.”

Give me a break, Mother!

“Yes,” he said pleasantly. “It should be interesting. I’ve never been to a software convention before.”

“I envy you,” Cynthia said, and sighed.

Griffin’s dark brows angled upward. “I didn’t know you were interested in computers.”

She laughed gaily. “Oh, Griffin! Aren’t you amusing? I meant that I envied you for getting away from this cold weather to spend a long weekend in Florida. I only wish I had that opportunity.”

Griffin’s jaw clenched. Marilyn the Matchmaker was really pushing it this time.

“Yes,” he said politely, “I suppose it sounds terrific, but I doubt if I’ll even get to set foot on the sand. I’ll be too busy rushing from meeting to meeting.”

“Ah,” Cynthia gazed down at her plate. “I see.”

Griffin sighed. No. She didn’t see. She was a nice girl, but she was wasting her time. Sooner or later, he was going to have to find a way to tell her that.

It was true, she would undoubtedly make some man a fine wife. She was pretty. Actually, she was beautiful. She was well-educated, too, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who was bothered by the fact that she was a woman; she understood that there was a difference between the sexes. Griffin had had enough of male-bashing broads to last a lifetime. Any man would, who’d come of age within the past couple of decades.

Cynthia was like a breath of fresh air. She had no agenda and no career goals. She didn’t look upon men as the enemy. She liked being a woman. She understood the difference between the sexes, and the difference pleased her.

There was no question as to what would make Cynthia happy. She would be content to be a man’s helpmate. To bear his children. To stay at home, cook his meals and clean his house...metaphorically, anyway, because, of course, there’d be a staff of servants to do all of that. The point was, Cynthia would not want the rules bent to accommodate her. She wouldn’t leave you wondering if she’d say “thank you” if you opened her car door for her or accuse you of trying to treat her as if she were the weaker sex.

Griffin knew that if he’d been looking for a wife, he’d have looked no further.

But he wasn’t looking for a wife. Not yet. Maybe not ever. His life was full and exciting, just the way it was. He loved his work, and his freedom, the right to come and go as he pleased, when he pleased. Not that he didn’t enjoy curtailing that freedom from time to time. The world was full of gorgeous women who were eager to share his life for a few weeks or months, no commitments asked. They were not wife material, his mother had said more than once, and each time she did, Griffin nodded thoughtfully and breathed a silent prayer of thanks that they were not.

But—and it was one hell of a big “but”—if he ever did decide it was time to settle down, and if Cynthia was still available, he might just look her up. He liked her well enough; he supposed he could even learn to love her...and if he couldn’t imagine taking her in his arms, the way he’d thought about taking Dana Anderson in his arms, and making love on the warm sands of a tropical beach, so what? Wild passion wasn’t what married life was all about.

Griffin frowned. Dammit, it wasn’t what the Anderson woman was all about, either. Why did he keep thinking about her and that silly beach?

Ms. Anderson, making love on a beach. The very idea was laughable. She’d probably never had a date in her life. She’d probably never...

Griffin jerked back in his seat.

No. It couldn’t be!

But it was. There, directly across the restaurant, tucked away in a cozy little nook, sat Dana Anderson...and a man.

What was she doing here? Griffin would have bet anything that she had her lunch in a health food store, or quaffed yogurt at her desk. Instead, here she was amidst the palm fronds and velvet drapes in the pseudo-romantic, sickeningly phony confines of Portofino. And she was with a guy.

An attentive one.

Griffin’s frown deepened.

The man could have been chosen for her by central casting. He was perfect, from his tortoise-shells to the bow tie that bobbed on his Adam’s apple.

“Monsieur?”

Griffin looked up. The waiter hovered beside the table.

“Do monsieur and madame wish dessert? A tarte, perhaps, or a Madeline Supreme?”

What Griffin wanted was to keep watching the Anderson babe and her boyfriend, but Cynthia had that I’m-hurt-but-I’m-being-brave look on her face again. The waiter, who seemed to see nothing strange in a French menu and a French accent in a restaurant named for a town in Portugal and warned, perhaps, by the look on Griffin’s face, drew back as if expecting to be attacked.

Griffin did his best to smile politely.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” he said. “Cyn? What will you have?”

Cynthia listened attentively while the waiter made his way through a seemingly endless list. Anderson—Ms. Anderson—wasn’t doing much of anything. She certainly wasn’t eating. Griffin couldn’t fault her for that. He couldn’t see her plate very clearly, thanks to the near-darkness that hung over the room like a pall, but from what he could observe, she was eating what looked like a taxidermist’s special.

And the Bow Tie was worried. You could see it on his face. He was looking at Anderson the way a puppy looks at an out-of-reach bone.

Well, who could blame him? Despite the plastered-back hair, the tweed jacket and the loose-fitting twill trousers, Dana Anderson was something to look at.

Griffin frowned. Yeah, well, piranhas were interesting to look at, too.

The guy said something. Anderson started to answer, stopped, then began to speak. She was really getting into it now, gesturing with her hands, leaning forward and risking immolation from the candles flickering in the floral centerpiece. She took the guy’s hand in hers, and the idiot positively beamed. There was no other way to describe it.

He was smiling so hard it looked as if his ears might start glowing, and why wouldn’t he? Anderson was looking at him as if he were St. George standing over the dead body of the dragon when, in reality, the guy looked as if a strong breeze might blow him over.

One corner of Griffin’s mouth turned down. This was the Anderson babe’s sort of man, all right. A guy she could lead around by the nose. Somebody who’d never want her to dance for him on a deserted stretch of sand, while the moon looked down and the drums pulsed out a beat that matched the fire in his blood...

“Griffin? Griffin, are you all right?”

Griffin pulled back from the edge of the precipice and looked across at Cynthia. “Yes,” he said calmly. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine.”

And he was.

It was just curiosity that had him wondering what could be keeping Dana Anderson’s attention so tightly focused on the man she was with.

“You aren’t eating, Dana. Is something wrong with your fish?”

Dana sighed. Arthur was looking at her with concern. Well, no wonder. She’d called and asked him to meet her for lunch, and now she was sitting here like a piece of wood, saying nothing, doing nothing, just watching her own grim reflection in the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses.

“No,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “No, the fish is fine, Arthur. Just fine.”

It was fine. She assumed so, anyway, because the truth was that she hadn’t eaten enough of it to know. It was just that Portofino served fish complete with head and tail. The tail didn’t bother her but the head was another story. The finny creature lay draped across her plate on a bed of something that looked suspiciously like kelp, its thin mouth turned down, its glassy eye turned up and fixed on the cherubim painted on the gilded ceiling.

Dana repressed a shudder. She’d never been good with food that looked as if it might get up and walk off her plate—or swim off, as the case might be. Besides, if this morning’s runin with McKenna had dimmed her appetite, the atmosphere in Portofino had finished it off completely.

She’d had no idea the place dealt in such overblown decor. If she had, she’d never have suggested it.

No wonder poor Arthur kept looking at her that way, with a little smile on his lips and his gaze expectant and misty behind his horn-rims. Her phone call, her choice of words, even her choice of restaurants, must have convinced him that romance was in the air.

Dana cleared her throat, lay her knife and fork across her plate, and folded her hands in her lap.

“Arthur,” she said gently, “I’m afraid I may have misled you.”

“I knew it,” he said, “you really don’t like the fish! Where is our waiter? I’ll ask him to bring you something else.”

Dana sat forward and put her hand on his. “The fish isn’t the problem.”

Arthur’s brows lifted. “It isn’t?”

“The problem’s...” She frowned. McKenna, was what she’d thought. But what she’d almost said was, me. Me, you, us, Arthur. We’re just not right for each other.

But it wasn’t true. They were right for each other, it was only that she was in an insane mood today. Just look at how she’d treated that poor custodian. She owed him an apology, and she’d give it to him first thing this afternoon, but right now, she was going to let Arthur help her get back on an even track.

He could do it, if anyone could.

“The problem,” she said, clearing her throat, “is Griffin McKenna.”

Arthur blinked. Just for a moment, it made him bear an uncanny resemblance to her glassy-eyed fish.

“Your employer? My dear Dana, I don’t understand. What has he to do with our lunch?”

“Nothing, Arthur. He has to do with me. With my job, with my self-respect, with my responsibilities at Data Bytes.” She drew back her hand and sat upright “You cannot imagine how much I despise that man.”

Arthur sighed. “My dear Dana—”

“Do you think you could stop saying that?”

“Saying what, my dear?”

Dana forced a smile to her lips. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I just—I’ve had a bad morning, that’s all. My nerves are shot. That’s why I called you. I need your advice.”

“You need...” Arthur’s smile dimmed just a little, then brightened again. “I’m at your disposal, of course.”

“There’s a problem at work, with my boss and the code we’ve been working on. I tried to tell McKenna about it, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“That’s surprising, Dana. Griffin McKenna is a brilliant strategist. According to the Journal...”

“The Journal doesn’t bother mentioning that he’s a pompous ass! I hate working for him.” Dana paused. “So, I’m asking for your opinion.”

Arthur’s bow tie rode up and down his Adam’s apple. “I’m flattered, my dear.”

“Should I start looking for another job?”

“Well, if you ask me—”

“Or should I ride it out? McKenna won’t stay at Data Bytes forever, but Dave Forrester probably will.”

“True. And—”

“But, if I quit, what kind of references would I get?”

“An excellent ques—”

“On the other hand, what can I accomplish by staying on? Forrester’s just going to keep screwing up and McKenna’s going to keep treating me as if I’m a troublemaker.”

“I see. If you think—”

“He’ll fire me anyway, when the new code blows up tomorrow. But if I quit before then, he’ll think he forced me out.” Dana’s eyes narrowed. “I refuse to give him that satisfaction.”

“Well,” Arthur said quickly, “if you really want my opinion—”

“I might not need references. I know lots of people in this business. I could find a job, a better job, then tell McKenna what he can do with this one!”

“True. But—”

“But that would be giving in. And I won’t do that. I’ll never do that!” Dana seized Arthur’s hand. “Oh, I’m so glad I asked your advice! Thank you for helping me come to a logical decision.”

Arthur blinked. “Ah...you’re very welcome.”

“You’re wonderful, you know. You’re so clear-headed.”

A pink glow suffused Arthur’s cheeks. His fingers tightened on hers, and he leaned forward until his bow tie lay nestled among the daisies and tea roses that separated them from each other.

“Thank you, my dear.”

“Thank you.”

Beaming with delight, Arthur lifted her hand to his lips.

“Monsieur.” The waiter favored them with the hint of a smile. “Would you and mademoiselle care for some café and dessert? Some sorbet, perhaps, or an excellent tarte...”

“Nothing, thank you,” Dana said. She smiled at Arthur as she rose to her feet. “I feel rejuvenated, thanks to you, Arthur. And I’m really eager to get back to work.”

Cynthia was talking, something about a luncheon she’d attended with his mother. Griffin was trying to pay attention, but how could he, after that incredible display? The Bow Tie had kissed Anderson’s band, and she’d given him a thousand-watt smile in return.

Anderson rose to her feet. So did the Bow Tie. And they headed straight in his direction.

Griffin’s jaw tightened. He tossed his napkin on the table and shoved back his chair.

“Griffin?” Cynthia said.

Anderson was holding the guy’s arm as they came down the aisle, looking at him as if he were the only man alive.

“Griffin?” Cynthia asked, “are we leaving already?”

Griffin stepped away from the table, folded his arms and waited. The estimable Ms. Anderson was still chattering away, smiling brightly, her head tilted toward the Bow Tie.

Griffin felt a tightness in his belly. She had never looked at him like that. Not that he’d want her to, but still, it was infuriating. She’d given him the kind of look you gave tapioca pudding when you had it shoved in front of you. How come she was gazing at Bow Tie and damn near glowing?

“...Don’t know what I’d do without you,” she was saying. “You’re so good for me.”

They were going to walk right into him. Griffin almost smiled as he anticipated her shock. But at the last second, Bow Tie pulled his adoring gaze from Anderson’s face, looked up, and saw Griffin standing, immobile, directly in their path.

To say he blanched was to be kind. The guy turned as white as paper.

“Mr. McKenna!”

Anderson nodded. “That’s right,” she said. “That’s all you hear around the office. Mr. McKenna this and Mr. McKenna that, spoken in such hushed tones that, frankly, sometimes I just want to—”

“Now, now,” Griffin said coolly. His lips curved into a tight smile as she skidded to a dead stop not more than six inches off his chest. “Be careful what you say, Ms. Anderson. We’re in a public place, after all.”

Dana’s heart slammed into her throat. “You,” she croaked as she looked into the scowling face towering above her.

“Indeed, Ms. Anderson. What a small world.”

Dana’s thoughts were whirling. McKenna? And a woman who looked as if she’d just stepped out of the fashion pages? But that was impossible. She’d chosen this restaurant with such care! McKenna wasn’t supposed to be here.

And why didn’t he step back? Why didn’t Arthur step back? Then, at least, she’d have room to breathe. She wouldn’t have to stand so close to McKenna’s hard body that she had to tilt her head at a neck-breaking angle just so she could look him in the eye.

“Introduce us,” Arthur hissed in her ear.

“Did you enjoy your meal, Ms. Anderson?”

“Dana,” Arthur whispered, “please. Intro—”

“What are you doing here?” Dana said.

Griffin’s scowl deepened. “Having lunch, Ms. Anderson. And you?”

“I don’t mean what are you doing here, Mr. McKenna, I mean...” God! What did she mean? Dana straightened her shoulders. “Excuse me,” she said coldly, “but I’d like to get by.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would.”

“Mr. McKenna. I am on my lunch hour.”

McKenna’s brows rose. “Is that a fact,” he said pleasantly.

Dammit all, why didn’t Arthur step back and give her some room? Dana shoved her elbow into Arthur’s middle and shot him an angry look, but he didn’t notice. How could he, when he was staring at Griffin McKenna with the look of a deer caught in the headlights?

Dana firmed her jaw, stepped back and planted her foot firmly on Arthur’s toes. That made him move, all right, not much but enough so that now she didn’t have to inhale faint whiffs of McKenna’s cologne with every breath she took.

“It is,” she said. “And now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. McKenna, I’ll see you back at the office.”

Griffin nodded. “Indeed you shall, Miss—oh, sorry—Ms. Anderson.”

How could the man make the correction of her name sound like an insult? Dana’s cheeks burned as she maneuvered past him and headed for the door.

Arthur stepped in front of her when they reached the sidewalk.

“Why didn’t you introduce me, Dana?”

She glared past him, at the restaurant, as if McKenna might materialize at any moment.

“The nerve of him,” she said, “the damned nerve!”

“You should have introduced us. It was a wonderful oppor—”

“Did you see him? Did you see him?”

“Of course, I saw him.”

“Don’t be dense, Arthur. I mean, did you see him? The way he stood there, with that look on his face!”

“What must he be thinking? Common courtesy demands—”

“Courtesy is uncommon, Arthur, haven’t you figured that out yet?” Dana blew a strand of streaky blond hair out of her eyes. “And that woman with him. Miss Perfection.”

“Actually, I thought she was rather attrac—”

“The polite little smile. The perfect hair. The elegant suit. The la-di-da air.”

Arthur frowned in bewilderment. “La-di-da air?”

“So ladylike. So unruffled. So—so unthreatening, to the master’s masculinity!”

“Dana, really, I fail to see what you’re so upset about.”

“That’s just the point, Arthur. You fail to see, but that’s because...because...”

Because what? What was she so upset about? McKenna had been in the same restaurant as she’d been, he’d been having lunch with a beautiful woman. So what?

“If I have to explain it,” she said loftily, “there’s no point. Goodbye, Arthur. Thank you for lunch.”

She swept past him, chin lifted, and started toward the corner. Arthur stared after her for a couple of seconds before hurrying to catch up.

“Dana, my dear, let’s not quarrel.”

“We haven’t quarreled. I just don’t see how you can let yourself be taken in by Griffin McKenna.”

“I haven’t been taken in. I just...” Arthur sighed. “Never mind. Are we still on for dinner this evening?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure. Why don’t you phone me later?”

“Dinner,” Arthur said more firmly than usual. “All right?”

Dana sighed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see you at seven.”

Dave Forrester, who had not yet succumbed to his afternoon ration of vodka, was lounging in the doorway to Dana’s office when she returned. He greeted her with an enigmatic look.

“Had a good lunch, did you, Dana?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Forrester grinned. “Boss wants to see you.”

Dana didn’t reply. She turned and walked down the hall to McKenna’s office, telling herself as she did that she was not about to take any more nonsense from the man and telling herself, too, that it was a good thing she’d spoken with Arthur because now she was calm, she was very calm, and nothing Griffin McKenna did or said could get under her skin anymore.

Miss Macy greeted her with a look that mimicked Forrester’s. Were enigmatic looks the order of the day?

“Mr. McKenna is waiting for you, Miss Anderson.”

“It’s Ms.,” Dana said, and stepped into McKenna’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, looking the length of the room at her, like an emperor on his throne. “You wanted to see me, Mr. McKenna?”

“Shut the door please, Ms. Anderson.”

Dana complied, then faced him again. “Mr. McKenna. If this is about our bumping into each other at that restaurant—”

“Where you eat is no concern of mine. You may eat what you wish, where you wish, with whomever you wish.”

“How generous of you, sir,” Dana smiled sweetly. “In that case, what did you want to see me about?”

McKenna smiled, too, like a cat contemplating a cageful of canaries.

“You’re fired.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Fired, Ms. Anderson. As in, clean out your desk, collect your severance pay, and don’t come back.”

Fired? Fired? Dana’s vision blurred. All the logic of the last hour fled in the face of Griffin McKenna’s self-indulgent smile.

“You can’t fire me,” she snapped. “I quit!”

Griffin tilted back his chair and laced his hands behind his head.

“Have it your way, Ms. Anderson. Frankly, I don’t give a damn, just as long as we agree that you are no longer in my employ.”

Maybe it was the way he said it, in that know-it-all, holier-than-thou tone. Maybe it was the insufferable smile, or the way he tilted back that damn chair. All Dana knew was that, suddenly, she’d reached the breaking point.

She stomped across the room, snatched a stack of papers from his desk, and flung them high into the air.

“You,” she said, “are a complete, absolute, unmitigated jerk.”

Griffin looked at Dana. She was breathing as hard as if she’d just finished a five-mile run. Her eyes blazed with green fire, and she looked as if she could happily kill him.

Something in his belly knotted. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he kicked back his chair, rose to his feet and came around the desk.

“And you,” he said, “are a woman in need of a lesson.”

“In what?” Dana said furiously. “In the fact that the world is owned by men like you?”

A dangerous smile curved across Griffin’s mouth. For the second time in her life, and the second time that afternoon, Dana wanted to step back. But she didn’t. To give way would have been a mistake.

Standing her ground turned out to be the bigger mistake. It meant that when Griffin reached for her, he had no trouble pulling her straight into his arms.

“In the fact that women have their uses, Ms. Anderson,” he said, and then he bent his head, laced his fingers into her hair, and kissed her.