“My carpet for your crown molding?” she asked, sitting up straighter, obviously surprised by the generosity of the deal. Her movement tightened her dress, and he swore he could almost see the pink of one areola.
Derek swallowed a deep draught of wine. “Yeah.”
“The vintage, hand-knotted Safavid?”
“Right.”
Candice drew a breath, tightening her dress even more. “You won’t be sorry.”
He was already sorry. Most of his customers wouldn’t know a Safavid from a nylon Berber. The best he could hope for was an increase in his carpet-aficionado customer base. Maybe they’d order some extra drinks while dropping down on all fours to run their fingers over the imported fibers.
This round definitely went to her. But only because she was using her breasts as a negotiating tool—even if she didn’t realize it.
He had a sudden burning need to make a deal that was weighted on his side of the equation. “Let’s talk light fixtures,” he said.
“You’re not touching my bronze-and-stained-glass chandelier,” she warned, eyes narrowing.
“I gave you the carpet.”
She shook her head. “That was a completely different deal.” Pushing back her chair, she stood up.
Derek jumped up, too. “Where are you going?” He was still worried about her bare feet.
“To get some cocktail napkins.”
“Stay here.” He motioned with his hand. “I’ll get them for you.”
He went to the kitchen and retrieved a handful of white paper napkins.
“Got a pen?” she called.
He checked behind the maître d’s desk and found a pen.
“What are you planning to do with all this?” he asked as he returned to the table and set the napkins down in front of her.
“Contract amendments.” She scooped the pen from his outstretched hand. “The wainscoting for the stain and the crown molding for the carpet.”
She printed on a napkin for a moment.
Derek sat down.
“Sign here.” She pushed it across the table.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Dated and signed by both of us. It ought to hold up in court.”
“We’re not going to court.”
“I’m not taking any chances with my Safavid carpet.”
“I’m a man of my word.”
She folded her arms across her chest and smiled. “Then you have no reason not to sign, do you?”
Since her crossed arms brought her breasts up against the scooped neck of the dress, and since he could most definitely see soft, pigmented skin peeking out, he did as she asked.
“Perfect.” She smiled, scooping up the napkin. “We’re finished with those two items.” Then she blinked her long lashes. “Any other areas you’d like to discuss?”
He decided then and there to take her along for the next labor negotiation. While he wasn’t prepared to say she’d beaten him, he definitely wanted her on the team when the going got tough.
“The light fixtures,” he said, deciding it was time for him to win one. He had to concentrate to keep his gaze from dropping to her chest.
“The bronze and stained glass exudes character and history,” she began. “When customers enter the Lighthouse, that fixture will be the first thing they see. They’ll be overwhelmed by it’s grandeur and style. It’s a classic. It’ll highlight the wine rack—”
“It’s a light,” he said dryly.
“It’s not a light.” She looked affronted. “Well, yeah, okay, of course it’s a light.”
“I nearly fell out of my chair when I read the price.”
“But, it’s not just a light. It’s an antique.”
“Get a reproduction. Nobody will know.”
“You’ll know.”
“I won’t care. I’ll be too busy spending the money we saved.”
Candice leaned forward.
Derek nearly groaned at the cleavage she presented. It ought to be illegal.
Of course, he could tell her, and she’d probably cover up.
Nah.
“I’ll know,” she said. “I’ll care.”
“And that’s supposed to keep me awake at night?” It wouldn’t. Not like the thought of her breasts would.
“Okay. How about this. Restaurant reviewers will know.” She leaned back and smiled, obviously appreciating her own brilliance. She lifted her wineglass. “You want them to write about the cheap reproduction or the fine antique.”
Derek paused. He needed to succeed in at least one of these side deals, to salvage his pride if nothing else.
“I’ll give you the tiles,” she said. “The tiles for the light fixture.”
“But, I like the tiles.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She began writing.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’ll keep the light fixture. You keep the tiles.”
“Wait a minute—”
“Why don’t you get the chocolate mousse?” She looked up at him and smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my feet.”
“YOU’RE CORRUPT,” said Derek as Candice savored the first bite of her chocolate mousse—creamy rich, melting smoothly over her tongue. He should seriously consider a career as a chef.
“Why?” she asked, licking every little morsel off the tip of the spoon.
“You got it both ways on the last deal.”
“That’s because you were so busy talking to my cleavage.” She grasped the top of her dress and tugged it up a little.
His spoon froze in midair. “You knew?”
“Please.”
He might be a great cook, but subtlety was not his middle name. The man saw a flash of skin and he was hopeless.
“That’s cheating,” he said.
“Cheating how?”
“You should have…” He made a lifting motion with both hands.
“You could have told me.”
A slow, secretive smile grew on his face. “Then you would have covered up.”
She smiled back, just as secretively. “Then you wouldn’t have signed away a fifty-thousand-dollar light fixture.”
“For fifty thousand dollars, you should have to strut around looking sexy all night.”
“Not in the contract.” She patted the two signed napkins.
“My mistake.”
She chuckled. “It’s cleavage, Derek. Every woman at the reception tonight showed off the same thing.”
“Not my mother or aunt Eileen.”
“Every woman under the age of fifty.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“There’s that opening again.”
“Are you trying to flirt with me?”
He stared into her eyes for a long, silent moment. “You want me to?”
Danger signs flashed through her mind. No way she was walking into that one. “I want leather upholstery for the dining-room chairs.”
“That’ll put you over budget.”
“How can you know that?”
He tapped his forehead. “Mind like a steel trap. I remember the cost and the square footage required, and the outrageous labor charges.”
He did, did he?
She reached up and pulled a couple of pins from her hair, raking her fingertips through the tangled curls. Maybe she could get him to reconsider….
He watched in silence, his gaze following her every movement. His nostrils flared. “It won’t work. But nice try.”
“Taking down my hair wasn’t a bribe,” she lied. “I’m tired, and my head’s getting sore. It’s after midnight.”
His eyebrows crept up. “Uh-huh. Another nice try.”
“How long’s it been since you had a date?”
“A what?”
“A date. You’re sure susceptible to a woman who’s sitting here doing nothing but minding her own business.” She fought a grin.
“I’m not susceptible
to anything.”
“Uh-huh.” She scooped up a small amount of the chocolate mousse with her index finger, then placed it in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the rich cream, then slowly pulling the fingertip back out through her pursed lips. She was shamelessly copying a scene from a movie, but it must have worked because Derek’s eyes darkened.
“Stop,” he growled.
“Stop what?” She reached for the mousse again.
His hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I’m eating dessert.”
He stared deep into her eyes.
The heat of his hand seared her skin. Her pulse leaped and desire sizzled in her blood.
What was the matter with her? She was locked up alone with him for the foreseeable future, and she was acting like some kind of siren.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll stop.”
“Good decision.” He slowly released her wrist. He sat back and stared out the window, across the black lake to the star-studded sky.
“Derek…”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay.” He transferred his gaze back to her. “You didn’t really do anything.”
But, she had.
And, they both knew it.
It was one thing to ignore the fact that her neckline was a little low. It was quite another to make body language promises she had no intention of keeping.
They might be locked up together, and sharing a bottle of wine. But, he was still her client, and her behavior had definitely lacked professionalism.
The sooner this evening ended, the better.
“SLEEP WELL?” asked Candice the next morning, her voice morning-husky.
Derek glanced up from the grill to see her standing in the kitchen doorway. Her purple dress was wrinkled and her hair was in disarray. But she still looked sexy to him.
She stretched her neck and rotated her shoulders, testament to the fact that an old carpet mattress and tablecloth blankets hadn’t made the best bed in the world. She’d offered to share it with him, but that was out of the question.
His desire had reached a flash point last night. If she’d so much as brushed a fingertip against him in the night, he’d have kissed her senseless.
At least.
He recognized raw passion when he felt it, and Candice inspired the rawest he’d ever suffered. Taut muscles against the hard floor had made a frustrating night pure hell. But it was better than the alternative.
He flipped a slice of the French bread he was toasting. “Not particularly well. You?”
She shrugged her bare shoulders and padded toward him. “It wasn’t too bad. What are you making?”
“Toast.” He glanced around the room. His suit coat had to be here somewhere. The sooner he found it, the sooner he could cover her up.
She peeked around his shoulder. “I’m impressed.”
He transferred the slices to a waiting plate. Toast and canned orange segments were all he’d found that looked remotely like breakfast.
He forced himself to focus on her hairline. “Want to be even more impressed?”
“Sure.”
He turned off the gas grill and headed down the hall. “This way.”
“Where are we going?”
“Follow me.”
“Why the mystery?”
“All will be revealed in due course,” he said, inserting his master key into a small closet.
“You found a way out?”
Oh, great. Now she was going to be disappointed. He sighed. “No. I didn’t find a way out.”
“Oh.”
“But it’s something good.”
“Yeah?”
He opened the door wide. “Concierge supplies.”
“Which are?” She peered into the dark closet.
He flipped the light switch with a flourish. “Toothbrushes, toothpaste, bath products, deodorant, combs.” There were also condoms, but he didn’t bother listing those. “Anything the weary traveler might have left at home and need from room service.”
“Oh…” She scooted in front of him, running her fingers over the cellophane-wrapped packages with obvious reverence. “And we can…” She glanced up at him.
He knew he should step back so he wasn’t touching her. But his feet were suddenly frozen to the floor. “Help yourself.”
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” She wiggled and shifted as she gathered a handful of toiletries.
Right. She was in heaven, where he was in hell. He had a scantily dressed, bedroom-warm woman pressed up against him, and the last thing in the world he could do was touch her.
He forced a hearty note to his voice. “Men’s room is out of commission. So, we’ll have to share. You can go first.”
She twisted to look at him. “You sure?”
He sucked in a breath. “Absolutely.”
IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR in the ladies’ room, Candice stripped off her dress, her underwear and her stockings. There was a basket of fluffy white hand towels at one end of the sink, so she doused one in warm water and worked up a lather with some of the floral-scented soap. It wasn’t a shower, but it was the next best thing.
She found it hard to believe that Tyler had left them up here all night. Part of her admired his courage. Derek was going to kill him as soon as they got out.
She grinned in the mirror.
Then her smile faltered.
Derek.
Oh, man.
She sure hoped Tyler rescued them soon. Fighting with Derek was bad enough. Developing a case of lust for him was excruciating.
Her skin tingled under the wet towel as she remembered his hot looks. Then she cringed as she remembered her silly, quasi come-on.
What had she been thinking?
She wished she could blame the wine. But, truth was, she’d flat out enjoyed the interest in his eyes. In fact, she’d flat out enjoyed the feeling of playing with fire.
She squeezed the soap out of the towel and rinsed it under warm water, her body tingling as she wiped away the suds. Derek was definitely fire.
The concierge closet had also contained shampoo, so she went to work on her mousse-sticky hair. The process reminded her of summer camp, where upwards of sixty girls had jostled for sink space in the cold-water latrines. Only, the water wasn’t cold here. And she had Derek to play with instead of the other girls.
She wondered how he’d take to a game of Truth or Dare.
She quickly pushed the unruly thought from her mind.
Hair and body washed, she slipped back into her dress. She had no choice, unless she wanted to make a sarong out of a tablecloth. But she refused to wear the stockings and underwear.
She filled a sink with water and washed them out. There were a dozen stalls in the restroom, so she headed down to the farthest one and hung the lacy white underwear and sheer stockings up inside. Surely Derek wouldn’t venture this far.
Then she tossed her used towels into the basket under the counter and combed out her hair.
CANDICE’S HAIR HAD DRIED to a wavy, golden halo, and her skin looked tanned and healthy in that late afternoon sunlight.
“Okay. This is the big one,” she said to Derek, adding yet another recently signed paper napkin to their stack of contract amendments.
“What do you mean the big one?” he asked.
They’d topped a million dollars over an hour ago. He was embarrassed to admit he’d caved on almost everything. But what the hell was a guy supposed to do when the woman across the table wasn’t wearing any underwear?
Oh, she’d tried to hide them in the last stall, but he was tall enough to see across the tops of the cubicles. Her stockings and panties were busy drying in the ladies’ room. Which meant she was alfresco under that dress, and wreaking havoc on his negotiating skills.
“I want to rip out the wine rack,” she said.
“You what?” He nearly jumped out of his chair.
“Uh-uh. No way.”
“But—”
“Rip it out for the sake of two feet? Are you crazy?” On top of being nearly naked?
“It’ll ruin the entire—”
“It’s twenty-four inches.”
“Twenty-four inches is a lot.”
“It’s this much.” He held up his hands.
“But, it ruins the entire flow of the room,” she said, turning her palms up in a gesture of frustration.
Derek stared at her in silence. He’d caved on the carpet, the light fixtures, the tablecloths, even the staff uniforms. But this was too much. Tyler had better show up soon.
“I can’t do it,” he said, shaking his head.
“Tell me what you want,” she quickly countered.
He sure as hell wasn’t about to do that.
“There must be something,” she pressed.
He stared into her crystal-green eyes.
There was one thing. A favor he’d thought of in the middle of the night. Not the one where she was naked on a tropical island for a couple of months. Though he’d arrange that in an instant if he thought she’d go for it.
This was a personal favor. It didn’t have anything to do with the restaurant contract.
“What?” she prompted.
“You really want to know?” he asked slowly, considering whether or not he should even broach the subject.
She nodded.
He sat up straight, squaring his shoulders. “Here’s my deal.” He carefully lifted the stack of signed napkins containing the details of nearly twenty-four hours worth of negotiations. Then he looked deep into her eyes. “We rip these up.”
“No way.” She grabbed for them, but he pulled them out of her reach.
“In exchange,” he said. “I give you carte blanche.”
“What do you mean?”
“You get everything you want.”
“You mean within budget.”
He shook his head. “No budget—”
“But—”
“—limit.”
“What?”
“No budget limit. You do anything you want, and you have unlimited funds to do it with.”
“But…How…” She suddenly compressed her lips and eyed him with suspicion.
“It’s not sex,” he said dryly.
“I never thought—”
“Sure you did.”
High Stakes Page 4