by BETH KERY
He reached up and grabbed one of her lowering hands. She started at his touch.
“I thought you were sleeping,” she said softly, her voice thick with relaxation.
“I’m awake.”
She turned her head fully and saw his stare on her. He certainly was. His facial muscles looked relaxed in comparison to how rigid they’d been when he’d been inside her—pounding, pulsing, demanding—but his gaze was sharp and alert. He kept her hand in his grasp and moved it to her waist, his arm draping her.
“You may have fried half my brain cells just now, but I don’t want to sleep. Not yet,” he muttered thickly in his rough, French-accented voice. Her heart throbbed back to life. Had there been a thread of suggestiveness in his tone? He moved the pad of his thumb over her wrist in a gentle quest. “I wanted you so much, I never got a chance to appreciate you. I was too busy combusting.”
She swallowed, feeling the weight of her pearls on her Adam’s apple.
“I certainly felt appreciated,” she assured.
A smile flickered across his lips as he continued to touch her wrist. “Still, it was hardly a savoring experience. More like a gorge-fest.”
She returned his grin, warmed by the laughter in his eyes. The pad of his thumb moved subtly on her wrist.
“Are you feeling my pulse? When you touch me there?” she murmured. Their faces were only inches apart. She could clearly see the black ring that surrounded his irises and flecks of midnight in the silvery-gray of his eyes. His eyelashes were surprisingly thick for a man, further highlighting his magnetic gaze.
“Yes.”
“You’re using your knowledge of biology, the same knowledge you used to make your biofeedback mechanisms, in order to read me?”
“The human body has a language all its own,” he said, still feathering her pulse with his thumb. “It’s usually more honest than the kind that comes out of a person’s mouth.”
“What’s my body telling you right now?” she whispered, unable to stop herself from asking.
His gaze moved slowly down over her chest. She felt his stare on her breasts like a touch. She shifted restlessly an inch or two, increasing her contact with his body. Her shoulder pressed against a dense pectoral muscle. She inhaled deeply, making her breasts rise. Her nipples tightened beneath his weighty stare.
“The leap in your pulse along with the increase in your muscle tension could mean anxiety. Or it could mean you’re heating again.” He glanced up into her face and caught the burn in her cheeks. His gaze had grown heavy-lidded, somehow both satiated and aroused at once. Heating again. How aptly put. “In combination with the rest of the signs,” he said with a quick glance at her erect nipples, “I’d opt for the latter, though. Am I right?”
She licked at her lower lip nervously. “I think it might mean both anxiety and . . . the other thing.”
He released her wrist and cupped her waist, his large, warm hand and long fingers stretching from back to belly.
“What are you anxious about?” he growled softly.
“I don’t think Ian would approve of this, for one.”
His nostrils flared slightly. “He sent you to me, didn’t he? What right has he got to complain if we like each other? What’s it got to do with him?”
“You know it’s not that simple,” she chastised.
A frown pulled at his mouth. “Right. Let’s consider what Ian would want in this situation, by all means.”
He released her suddenly and rolled off the bed. She started at his abruptness—not to mention his simmering sarcasm—but then immediately became distracted by the image of him almost entirely naked, save for his jeans and underwear bunched around thighs that were long and solid as young oaks. Hadn’t Ian told her that Kam had built a sophisticated workout area in his underground home that took into account his intuitive understanding of the subtle mechanisms and physics of the human body? Ian was supremely in shape, but had wryly told Lin after he’d joined Kam in one of his workouts that he practically hadn’t been able to move for three days afterward.
Kam’s back was beautiful—all lean, defined muscle, a narrow waist that angled up to broad shoulders. He had more color in his skin than Ian, a swarthy gilt. There didn’t appear to be an ounce of fat anywhere. Lin supposed he wouldn’t have had much of a chance to acquire any, living a solitary, meager existence for so many years in the country. Arousal flickered in her sex at the vision of him carelessly jerking his underwear over his ass. The skin there was as smooth as his back, the buttocks powerful, round, very . . .
. . . grab-worthy.
She’d been mad to follow his demand and keep her hands out of the action.
“Bathroom?” he asked gruffly, breaking the settling spell of lust . . . and disappointment.
“Oh, there,” she pointed at a door to the right.
He came around the foot of her bed. He hadn’t buttoned his fly. As he walked, his hand cupped his exposed cock from below, sliding off the condom. He wasn’t as rock hard as he had been earlier, but his penis was still beautiful—shapely and slightly distended from his body.
Heat rushed through her, as powerful and stunning as it had been the first time. When he disappeared behind the bathroom door, she blinked and looked around her bedroom as if seeing her surroundings for the first time that night. She glanced anxiously at the closed bathroom door. Was he pulling himself together in there? Washing and fastening his clothing? She didn’t want to be sprawled on the bed with her skirt shoved up around her waist, her thighs spread, vulnerable and exposed when he returned. She sat up and dove for her sweater. When the door to the bathroom abruptly opened again, she hastily pressed the silk knit over her breasts, feeling like she’d been caught red-handed.
He stepped across the threshold, pausing when he saw her. A shadow of disgust—or was it disappointment?—crossed his bold features. He readjusted his jeans and fleetly fastened his pants, his ridged abdomen flexing. He hadn’t been pulling himself together in there. She watched helplessly as he stalked across the room and grabbed his wadded shirt and jacket off the floor.
“Are you . . . are you going?” she asked.
“Looks as if,” he said shortly, untangling his clothing.
“I didn’t mean you . . . that is . . . I’m sorry,” she fumbled. Why didn’t she know what she wanted in this situation? It was as if she couldn’t interpret her own desires anymore. Maybe it was best if he did go. Surely she’d regret her impulsive behavior. She rarely went to bed with men and never at the first meeting, which was no great shock. No one had worse luck with men than Lin; she must hold a world record for her number of abysmal first and only dates. But her judgment was especially lacking in Kam’s case. First of all, he wasn’t a date. He’d been a work assignment. Secondly, he was Ian’s brother, for God’s sake. Lin was always fastidious about keeping the boundaries intact between her work and her personal life. Not that she had much of a personal life outside of work and Ian, but . . .
Surely she’d also regret seeing Kam Reardon walk away in that moment as well.
You were right before. I was heating up. I shouldn’t have brought up Ian. That’s not for us to think about now.
“What I don’t get,” Kam said as he drew on his shirt, taut muscles flexing in a jerky, impatient motion, “is the limit.”
“The limit?” Lin asked slowly, his words interrupting the flow of her mental rehearsal for talking him into staying. His flashing, furious gaze made her pull the sweater tighter over her naked torso.
“Yeah. Weren’t you up for working overtime?”
It took a moment for his meaning to settle in. When it did, hurt and fury flooded her.
“How dare you say something like that to me! This,” she glanced back at the mussed bed, “had nothing to do with work.”
“Really? Nothing to do with Ian?” he bit out, shoving his arms into the sleev
es of his jacket so forcefully she heard the seam protest with a ripping sound. “Everyone is always saying you’d do anything for him.”
“No,” she exclaimed, standing. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that. But then a thought occurred to her, and she paused in her heated defense. Her uncharacteristic behavior tonight did relate to Ian, didn’t it? To her secret, buried feelings for him? Too late, she realized Kam had noticed her sudden distraction.
“Did Ian ask you sleep with me? Soften me up a little? Make the stubborn country relation a bit more malleable? Palatable?” he demanded quietly, taking a step toward her.
“No! Of course not. You realize you’re practically calling me a prostitute, don’t you?” she almost shouted, anger and disbelief and confusion twining and beginning to roar in her blood. “Is that what you think? That Ian sends me out to sleep with his business associates? His family members?”
His features darkened. “Of course I don’t think you’re a prostitute. What I do think is that you’re a woman who would do just about anything for her job. For her boss. Everyone in the family is always going on about how loyal you are to him.”
Her mouth fell open in shock. Oh my God. She’d been so idiotic. How could she have ever thought this rough, savage jerk was attractive? He didn’t even vaguely resemble the men she usually favored, but her libido just had to be appeased, didn’t it? This was the stupidest mistake she’d ever made.
She drew herself up to her full height, refusing to be cowed by the fact that she was standing half-dressed in front of such a complete, astronomical son of a bitch. He’d just burned her to her very core, and then had the nerve to call her a whore and Ian’s bowing minion in one fell swoop. She’d let him burn her.
“Get the hell out of my house,” she said quietly.
A strange expression broke over his face, as if her response had been disappointing, but also precisely what he’d expected of her.
She was almost as furious with herself as she was at Kam Reardon for giving a good goddamn one way or another what the bastard thought. He stalked out of the room without a backward glance, his backbone as stiff as hers. She still stood in the exact same position when she heard the front door close with a brisk click.
It slowly settled on her like a creeping chill that Kam wasn’t the only person who was disappointed in her behavior tonight. She’d let herself down. She’d never before backed down or failed at an assignment Ian had given her. There was a first time for everything, though. She’d have to break the truth to Ian.
There was no way in hell she was going to work with his insolent brother.
• • •
Morning sunlight poured into Ian’s corner office when she entered it three days later. She was jumpy from nerves, but knew she looked calm on the surface. It had taken a lot of energy to stifle her anxiety over what had occurred with Kam, but she’d had several days focusing on business in New York to do it. She’d carefully constructed a lie for why she couldn’t work with Kam, but her story seemed full of holes. Surely Ian, of all people, would never believe it.
Maybe she wouldn’t have to convince him after all, she reasoned as she approached Ian’s desk. She’d spoken to Ian last evening before her flight back to Chicago. Their discussion had been a practical rundown of her meetings in New York. Ian had only mentioned Kam in regard to his personal visits with family. Nevertheless, Kam might have told Ian in the interim what had happened between them Monday night. Perhaps Kam had already suggested he was the one who didn’t want to work with Lin?
Not knowing the lay of the land only amplified her barely restrained anxiety.
As usual, Ian sat behind his massive carved hardwood desk, talking to someone on his earpiece, his fingers moving fleetly over a keyboard placed in front of him. Despite his multitasking, his blue eyes met hers as she handed him the latest numbers from Tyake, one of his subsidiaries. She immediately recognized the glance of significance at a chair before his desk, her heart sinking a little. He wanted her to wait.
Residual anger, hurt, and humiliation crowded her consciousness when she considered the possibility of Kam spilling the dirty details to Ian. How could she have been so stupid? Her impulsivity shocked her to the core. She sunk into one of the upholstered chairs before his desk, a nauseating feeling of dread rising in her belly.
“We’ll wait and see how the Nikkei opens tonight and go from there,” Ian was saying, glancing over the contents of the file she’d handed him. Lin had known who was on the other end of line almost immediately by their topic. His typing fingers paused as he signed off from his conversation with Alexandra Horowitz, one of his vice presidents.
He pulled off his earpiece.
“Good morning,” she greeted him with false, brisk cheerfulness.
“It is one, isn’t it?” he commented quietly, glancing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The brilliant sunlight turned his usually cobalt eyes into gleaming slits of sky blue. “Francesca has that showing tonight. She’ll be pleased weather won’t stand as an excuse for people not to come.”
“She must be very excited.”
Ian’s brother Lucien and his wife Elise had opened a sophisticated boutique hotel and restaurant in the Prairie Avenue district several months ago, where Elise also worked as the executive chef. Francesca had been so inspired by the elegant brick structure where Lucien had situated the hotel that she’d completed a collection of some of Chicago’s architectural vintage classics, buildings evocative of a different era and graceful lifestyle. Lin had arranged for the Gersbach meeting with Kam to take place at the reception for Francesca’s showing, with dinner to follow at Frais, Elise’s new restaurant.
“Francesca has sketched for this collection, isn’t that right?” Lin hedged, hoping to avoid the inevitable topic of Kam for another few seconds.
“Yes,” Ian said wryly. “It’s been hard for her, being put off the paints while she’s pregnant. I’m betting she’ll be covering herself with the stuff once the baby is born.”
There it was, that far-off look Ian got in his eyes whenever he spoke of Francesca. It pained her far less today than it had in the past. Lin recalled vividly the first time she’d ever seen that expression—so different from Ian’s typical brutally sharp focus. It’d made her jealous to see it, she admitted, but there had also been a strange feeling of happiness going through her as well, witnessing such a determinedly lonely man finally lose himself thoroughly in thinking of another. She’d long ago accepted he’d never look that way for her. The pain had become a distant ache that bothered her less and less with each passing day.
“Francesca would deserve it,” Lin said with a smile. “How difficult for her, to have to abstain from something so entwined with her existence. I’m glad she’s found some alternatives, though. Francesca is nothing if not resourceful.” She arched her eyebrows and gave him a small smile. “I’m assuming you got her a gift, something for her opening?” It was a little standing joke between them. Lin used to purchase all the gifts for the various women he used to see before Francesca. When Ian met Francesca, however, Francesca had understandably protested about his having Lin choose gifts for her. Ian had to take a crash course in buying personal, thoughtful gifts, and he’d come a long way.
“I’m sending flowers, and I got her a first-edition photography book on classical architecture she’s been wanting from Lucien’s shop,” he said, referring to a vintage bookstore situated next to the Coffee Boutique in Lucien and Elise’s hotel.
Her grin widened. “You’re becoming an expert. The day is coming when you won’t need me anymore.”
His gaze sharpened on her. “Don’t say that. You’re one of my most prized assets. I can’t exist without you. Or at least Noble Enterprises can’t. Speaking of which, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Lin tensed. Here it comes. Had Kam spoken to him? “Yes?” she asked warily.
&nb
sp; “Would you ever consider moving to London? For your job?”
The ensuing silence seemed to roar in her ears. “I . . . I don’t know. Chicago has always been my home.” She collapsed back into her chair, her mouth hanging open. “You’re considering moving your home base to London?”
“I’m thinking about it,” he said honestly. “You know Francesca is going to have the baby at Belford Hall,” he said, referring to his grandparents’ palatial estate.
“Yes. And I know your grandfather hasn’t been in the best of health.” She realized how hollow her voice sounded. In the back of her mind, she’d always known that Ian might choose to make Belford Hall his primary residence, but that day always seemed far in the future. She tried to give him a rallying smile despite a sinking feeling. “I can understand why you’d want to relocate to England to be nearer to both your grandparents. Besides, it’d be a lovely place for Francesca to recover after the baby is born.”
“I’m considering it for a good chunk of time, anyway.”
She willfully steadied herself. He said it would be a short period of time, but she could easily imagine the circumstances stretching into forever. “I can’t expect everything to always remain the same,” she said evenly. “That’s the way of business. Things are always changing.”
“You’re more than just ‘business,’ Lin,” Ian said, his eyebrows slanting. “That’s why I brought it up. I want you to think about relocating. I’m sure we can come up with an arrangement that feels beneficial for you and isn’t so life altering. We’ll make a point to talk about it more next week?”
She nodded and gave him a reassuring smile, ignoring the snide voice in her head telling her of course she was nothing more than business to him. Her brain had always known that, even if her heart hadn’t adequately learned the crucial lesson.
“Enough about that,” Ian said gruffly. “We need to discuss Kam. How did it go the other night?”