"Perry is very conscientious and thorough. That's why I made him manager," Brock stated and let his eyes run over her slender figure. "Surely he told you that I eat little girls like you for breakfast." He sipped at the champagne and gave Stephanie the impression he was drinking the essence of her.
Her throat worked convulsively for a second before she could get an answer out. "Actually, I think Perry said you go through women like a gambler goes through decks of cards." She matched his frankness, but she was shaking inside.
"Very aptly put." His glass was lifted in a mock salute. "Because generally I discard them after very little use—sometimes for no greater reason than that I want something new." Again, he took a drink of champagne and studied her with unnerving steadiness over the rim of the crystal glass. "After all these years of keeping you hidden away, your brother took quite a risk sending you in his place. Why did he do it? Are you supposed to provide me with a distraction so I won't uncover some current problem?"
"There aren't any problems. Everything is running smoothly." She denied the suggestion that it was otherwise. "Perry asked me to meet you because there wasn't anyone else. The night manager is at home sleeping and Perry's secretary is…terrified of you. That only left me to represent the managing staff, unless you throw out protocol. Then anyone would do."
"She's a timid soul. Her name's Connie, isn't it?" Brock Canfield mused and wandered toward Stephanie. "Do you suppose she's afraid of sex?"
"She's naturally shy," Stephanie defended her brother's secretary, and fought the warmth that was trying to color her own cheeks.
When he reached her, Brock didn't stop but went on past her. She heard him set the glass on a table and started to turn. "Perry must have told you that if you become involved with me, I would hurt you."
His constant changing from directly personal to impersonal was keeping her off balance. Stephanie tried to adjust to this current reversal of tactics. He made a leisurely, circle to stop on the opposite side of her. Her head turned slightly to bring him into the focus of her side vision. He didn't seem to expect a reply from her, and she didn't make one.
"It's true," he went on. "I know your kind. You eat Yankee pot roast on Sunday while I have Chateaubriand. I live out of hotel suites and you want a house with four bedrooms."
He reached out to lift the scarab pendant from her sweater and study it. His hand made no contact with her body, but the sensation was left, anyway. When he replaced it, his fingertips trailed down, tensing her stomach muscles.
"You want children, a boy and girl to mother, but I have no desire for an heir. It's time the Canfield name died." His gaze roamed to her breasts. The shallowness of her breathing had them barely moving beneath the ribbed knit of her sweater. "More than likely, you're the type that would want to nurse your babies yourself."
Stephanie didn't dispute any of his statements. She couldn't, because she guessed there was a fragment of math in all of them. Her silence was ruled mostly by the knowledge that she was being seduced.
Brock Canfield was stating all the reasons why an affair with him would never last at the same time that he was persuading her to surrender to his desire, anyway. She couldn't raise a single objection when he was saying them all. It was crazy how helpless she felt.
When he moved to stand in front of her with only a hand's width separating their bodies, she was conscious of his maleness. Eye level with the lean breadth of his shoulders, she lifted her chin to study the strength of his masculine features, the darkness of his hair and the burnished silver of his eyes. He threaded his hands through the sides of her hair to frame her face.
"You want a man you can snuggle up to in bed and warm your cold feet," he said. "And I want to enjoy a woman's body, then sleep alone on my side of the bed. We're oil and water. The combination doesn't mix."
His gaze shifted to her lips. Her heartbeat faltered, then shifted into high gear, but she managed to control the downward drift of her eyelashes and kept them open, offering no silent invitation. Brock Canfield didn't need any. Her nerves tensed as his mouth descended toward hers with excruciating slowness.
First, the fanning warmth of his breath caressed her sensitive lips. Then she was assailed by the stimulating fragrance of some masculine cologne, the scent tinged with dry champagne. The hint of intoxication swirled through her senses an instant before his mouth moved expertly onto hers.
With persuasive ease, he sampled and tasted the soft curve of her lips, not attempting to eliminate the distance between them. Stephanie didn't relax nor resist the exploring kiss. Of their own accord, her lips clung to his for a split second as he casually ended the contact to brush his mouth against her cheek.
"You're a delectable morsel." His voice was deliberately pitched to a caressing level of huskiness. "Maybe I'll save you for dessert." A light kiss tantalized the sensitive skin near her ear before he lifted his head to regard her with lazy gray eyes. "If you're smart, you'll slap my face, Stephanie."
"I'm smarter than that, Mr. Canfield." She was surprised she had a voice—and that it sounded so steady. "I'm not going to fight you—or in any way heighten your interest in the chase."
A smile of admiration spread across his face. It gentled the overwhelming virility of his tanned features. Stephanie's heart stopped beating for a full second, stunned by the potent charm the smile contained. He untangled his hands from her hair and stepped away to reclaim his champagne glass.
"Now you've intrigued me, Stephanie," he murmured, and downed the swallow of champagne.
"Believe me, that wasn't my intention." Agitation stirred her voice.
"Wasn't it?'" Brock challenged with a knowing lift of a dark eyebrow.
"No." But she couldn't hold his gaze so she looked away, lifting her chin a fraction of an inch higher.
The phone rang and Brock walked away from it, ordering over his shoulder, "Answer it."
Stephanie hesitated, then stepped to pick up the white receiver. "Yes? Mr. Canfield's suite."
"Stephanie?" It was her brother calling. He sounded surprised that she had answered. "Connie said Brock arrived fifteen minutes ago. Why are you still there? Any problems?"
"No, I was just leaving." She was glad her voice sounded normal and not as emotionally charged as she felt. "Mr. Canfield is right here. Would you like to speak to him?"
"Yes, put him on," Perry agreed to her suggestion a little thoughtfully.
She held out the receiver to Brock. "It's Perry."
He walked over to take the phone from her hand, without attempting to touch her. His hand covered the mouthpiece. "It's a pity we have to postpone our discussion just when it was becoming interesting."
She refused to rise to his bait. "I hope you enjoy your stay with us," she offered, as if she was addressing a hotel guest instead of the owner.
As she turned to walk to the door, his voice followed her. "That remains to be seen, Stephanie."
His remark held the hint of a promise that their discussion would be resumed at a later time. The part of her that wasn't ruled by common sense was looking forward to it.
Crossing the threshold into the hallway, Stephanie half turned to close the door. Her gaze was drawn to the leanly muscled man on the phone, but he had already forgotten her. His dark head bent in concentration as he listened to what Perry was saying. Very quietly she shut the door and walked swiftly down the carpeted hallway.
When she reached her office, she closed its door. It was a defense mechanism to prevent her from watching for Brock Canfield. She paused long enough at the mirror to smooth the hair his hands had rumpled, then spread the daily entry sheet on her desk and started to work.
Once she heard Perry and Brock's voice in the hall outside her office. Unconsciously she held her breath, but they didn't stop. She guessed her brother was taking Brock on a brief tour of the inner workings of the inn. It sounded logical although Brock was probably very familiar with all that went on.
Late in the afternoon, Perry knocked on her do
or and walked in. "Stephanie, do you have those cost projections on renovating the pool house into a sauna and exercise club?"
Her gaze ricocheted off her brother to be stopped by the masked gleam of Brock's gray eyes. A charcoal pullover had taken the place of his tie, the white collar of his shirt extending over the neckline of the sweater. The casual attire didn't diminish the air of male authority that draped him like a second skin.
"I have a copy." She dragged her gaze from Brock to open a side desk drawer. "I believe I saw yours at home."
"That's right," Perry remembered. "It's in the library on the desk." He took the portfolio Stephanie handed him and passed it to Brock. "As you can see on page two, the cost of equipping it is within range of the estimate. The main stumbling block is this bearing wall." He unrolled the architect's drawing on Stephanie's desk to show Brock where the difficulty had arisen in revamping the pool house.
Stephanie leaned back in her chair, unable to work while the two men discussed the problem. The inaction gave her too much freedom to study Brock Canfield. Sitting sideways on the edge of her desk, he listened attentively to Perry's explanations and counterproposals.
His position pulled the material of his slacks tautly over his thigh as his muscles bunched beneath it. She liked the clean, strong lines of his profile, the vibrant thickness of his dark brown hair and his lean, well-muscled build.
What bothered her was his innate sex appeal that didn't rely on good looks. He was handsome in a hard kind of way, but it was much more than that. She couldn't look at him without being aware that he was a man.
All the warnings didn't mean a damn, Stephanie realized—not coming from Perry or Brock. It was like being warned against the dangers of getting too close to a fire when she was shivering. She'd take the risk for the chance to be warmed by the flames. Glancing away from the compelling figure half-seated on her desk, she nervously moistened her lips as she realized what she was admitting.
When she looked back at Brock, he was watching her, a smile in the gray depths of his eyes as if he knew what she was thinking and the decision she had reached. It was totally impossible. But she didn't draw an easy breath until he returned his attention to the green portfolio.
"Let me make a suggestion, Perry," he said. "I'll study these blueprints and the cost projections and we'll discuss it this evening. You and your sister can join me for dinner." He straightened from her desk, his glance barely touching her as he bent to roll the blueprints. "Have you made other plans for dinner?" The question was an afterthought, addressed to her brother, not Stephanie.
"I'm free this evening, but I can't speak for Stephanie." There was a silent warning in the look Perry gave her, that said he would back up any excuse she chose to give.
"You'll come to keep the numbers even, won't you?" The statement was issued in the guise of a question as Brock studied her with knowing certainty. "You and Helen can gossip while Perry and I discuss business."
"We could always postpone it until morning," Perry suggested.
"Business before pleasure," Brock insisted with a glance in the general direction of her brother before his gaze returned to lock with hers. "Shall we meet at eight o'clock in the restaurant? That will give you time to go home and change."
"Eight o'clock will be fine," Stephanie agreed as she had known she would all along.
Perry gave her a look that said she had taken leave of her senses—but that was precisely what had happened. It didn't matter how foolish or futile it seemed. She was way out of her league with Brock Canfield, and there was no future in pursuing a relationship with him.
But she wasn't ruled by logic. A more powerful force was directing her actions.
Chapter Three
"DID HE make a pass at you?" Perry slipped the curly jacket over her shoulders, his hands lingering for a second.
"Of course." At his muffled curse Stephanie laughed. "That shouldn't come as a surprise to you. You did warn me that he would."
The laughter eased the tension gnawing at her nerve ends. Dining out was a luxury that they had rarely been able to afford. It was rarer still when her occasional dates had taken her out to dinner. Therefore her wardrobe was sadly lacking in dressy clothes.
The simple lines of the rust-colored dress came the closest to being what Stephanie deemed appropriate to wear. To it she added a plain gold belt and two strands of gold chain to overlap the jewel neckline. She tried to consider her choice as understated elegance as opposed to underdressed.
Luckily, Perry hadn't arrived at the house until twenty minutes ago, so he didn't know how she had agonized over what to wear. He had barely had time to shower and change into a fresh suit and tie. His brown hair still glistened from the shower spray. She could feel him eyeing her with brotherly concern while she buttoned the short jacket.
"What happened, Stephanie?" he questioned with less anger.
Turning to face him, she made a pretense of straightening his tie. "I didn't swoon at his feet, if that's what's worrying you," she joked.
"Will you be serious?" Perry insisted, acting every inch the wise older brother. "I can assure you that Brock isn't regarding it so lightly."
"Probably not," Stephanie conceded, sobering a little.
"Listen, if you want to change your mind, I'll make an excuse for you. One of your friends drove up for the weekend or something," he suggested.
"And fix something to eat when I can dine out? No, thanks." She shook her head in definite refusal. "Besides, you're going to be there to chaperon me. Not to mention the fact that his girl friend will be with us, too." The thought left a bad taste in her mouth. She moved to the front door. "We only have ten minutes to make it to the inn."
"I forgot about the girl he brought along." Perry followed her out of the house to the station wagon that belonged to the inn. There was a frown in his expression when he opened the car door for her. "Are you attracted to him, Stephanie?"
"I wouldn't be normal if I wasn't," she admitted. "Don't look so worried, Perry. It's better that I know it and admit it than have it hit me all of a sudden one day when it's too late."
"I suppose there's some logic in that thinking." But he didn't sound convinced.
When her door was shut, he walked around the front of the car to slide in the driver's side. Stephanie studied his grim profile as he started the motor. Impulsively, she reached out to touch his arm.
"Try not to worry about me too much, Perry," she said. "I know you'd like to fight all my battles, big brother, but some of them I have to face alone."
"I'm being overprotective," he admitted. "But it's become a habit to look after you. It's hard to remember that you're an adult."
"I know." And Stephanie did understand. She didn't resent the concern Perry voiced, because she knew his intentions were the best.
Tactfully, he switched the subject to the renovations of the pool house, which had been his idea. He was certain it would enhance the overall appeal of the inn and ensure their ability to compete with the newer, more modern ski lodges in the area. So far, Brock hadn't vetoed the plan, which made tonight very important.
The inn possessed two restaurants, but the formal dining room was only open during the evening dinner hour. It was one of the few dining rooms in the area that required proper attire, yet it was rarely empty. After spending the day hiking, skiing or cycling, guests seemed to welcome the excuse to dress up. Local residents often dined there as well, making reservations almost a necessity. This Friday was no exception.
After leaving her jacket at the coat check, Stephanie let Perry escort her to the table where Brock and his blond companion were waiting. Brock rose at their approach, his dark elegance reaching out to ensnare Stephanie. A ghost of a smile touched his mouth as he met her look. She felt oddly breathless, but her reflection in the mirrored wall didn't show this inner disturbance.
"Have you been waiting long?" Perry asked, more out of politeness than concern that they were late.
"No, Helen and I have ju
st arrived. I don't believe you've met Helen Collins," Brock introduced. "My manager, Perry Hall. Of course, you member his sister Stephanie."
Stephanie received no more than a cursory glance from the blonde, who did manage to smile at Perry. It was obvious by the forced pleasure in her expression that Helen resented their presence. She had probably looked forward to having Brock all to herself that evening, Stephanie realized.
That little trill of gladness that sang in her veins was the result of suppressed jealousy. The discovery brought Stephanie briefly to her senses. She wasn't going to spend the entire evening being envious of the slightest attention Brock paid to Helen.
"Sit here, Perry." Brock indicated the empty chair to his left. "That way we'll be able to talk without having to shout across the table."
Which left the chair opposite him for Stephanie. She wouldn't be sitting beside him, but she would be facing him through dinner. She knew she would have to guard against staring at him. Something told her Helen Collins wouldn't be very talkative.
It proved to be a very accurate prediction. Courtesy insisted that Stephanie make some initial attempts to start a conversation by inquiring where Helen was from, etcetera. When the other girl made no attempt to keep the conversation going, Stephanie didn't, either.
In consequence, she sat through dinner listening to the two men discuss the proposed renovations. She didn't find it boring. On the contrary, she was fascinated by the quickness of Brock's mind—shrewd and astute. And she was rather proud of Perry's ability to keep up with his fast-thinking employer.
But it became increasingly obvious that Helen didn't share Stephanie's appreciation of the conversation. She began smoking incessantly, since it gave her an excuse to interrupt the talk to have Brock light her cigarette. Stephanie was more embarrassed than envious of the way Helen gazed so limpidly into Brock's eyes and bent closer as if inviting his embrace. Brock's reaction was a mixture of aloofness, tolerance and amusement.
Heart of Stone Page 3