Revenge Best Served Hot

by Jackie Braun

  “A regular person?” Her gaze sharpened; the teasing glint in her eyes had ebbed. “Am I not allowed to be one, Mr. Flynn?”

  “Call me Brody,” he replied impatiently. “And you know what I mean. I’m sure your father doesn’t carry his own grocery bags.”

  He had little doubt Jonathon hired out all of life’s more tedious chores. The man would consider himself too important for them. Too important to care who he stepped on. The wine had soured in his mouth at the mention of her old man, although he managed to keep his tone—and he hoped his expression—bland.

  “Why…?” But she stopped herself from asking whatever was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she returned his biting comment with one of her own. “Well, taking over companies can be very time-consuming. I assumed once you got home, you’d be too tired to do anything domestic.”

  “I believe in striking a good balance between work and home.” Even as he said it, Brody wondered how balanced his life had been, especially during the past few years, as he’d single-mindedly executed his plan for revenge. Hoping to assuage his conscience, he told Kate, “My family comes first.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I seem to remember you saying something about keeping your weekends free for family. For your sisters.”

  “That’s right,” he replied warily, wondering if the conversation was heading straight for the boggy territory it was currently tiptoeing around.

  “Younger, I assume.”

  “Yes.” He was preparing to change the subject when she redirected it.

  “Well, I admire you for that. Family should come first.” Something in her expression struck him as wistful when she added, “Unfortunately, a lot of people, men in power in particular, don’t agree with that philosophy.”

  “Men such as your father?”

  His question failed to elicit the reaction he’d expected. Kate didn’t bristle with indignation or try to deny it. Instead, she studied her wine. Nothing about her expression was wistful now, although he couldn’t quite put a finger on the emotion that had her full lips pursing.

  “I’d rather not talk about my father, if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s not a problem.” Brody was only too happy to leave the subject of Jonathon Douglass behind. “What should we talk about?”

  “Work would seem the most appropriate, given our association.”

  She was right, of course. Brody nodded. “Happy with your new office?”

  He’d had human resources reassign her to the roomy space directly across the large reception area from the one her father had occupied. It was Brody’s now, and from the vantage point of his desk, he would be able to see Kate at hers…provided they both left their doors open. And he planned to. Planned to encourage her to do the same. He needed to know what she was up to while she worked, wanted to keep a cautious eye on her. At the moment, however, it was his hands he wanted on Kate.

  “I was fine where I was, but yes.”

  “That wasn’t an office,” he argued, thinking of the room she’d occupied just down from the bank of elevators. “It looked like a lounge.”

  As an interior room, it had no window. But it did have two couches, a table, and a small kitchenette area where the coffee was brewed. As for her desk, it was a spindly-legged antique with a hutch, meaning it had little surface area for a computer or the other essentials of a modern workplace.

  “It was my grandmother’s office. It wasn’t ideal,” she admitted.

  And she was the queen of understatement.

  They had just agreed to steer clear of the subject of her father, but he heard himself ask, “What’s with your old man? He treats you—”

  “Like a child.” She’d said that before. This time she held up her fancy goblet and added, “And as if I’m made of spun glass.”

  She struck Brody as a lot more substantial than that. He decided to be blunt. “Why is that, Kate?”

  She studied her glass, twisted the stem so that the wine swirled around the sides. Apparently Brody had touched a nerve. “He’s worried I’m just like my mother.”

  …

  Kate wanted to slap a hand over her mouth after allowing the words to slip out. What had possessed her to tell Brody that? She rarely discussed her relationship with her father even with close friends. As for her mother, talk of Lucille Douglass was taboo, and had been since she’d committed suicide Kate’s senior year of high school. Kate had been the one to find her. Nothing as neat as pills or car exhaust fumes. She’d slit her wrists. The blood, so much of it, and it had been everywhere in her mother’s bedroom. Even after all these years, Kate could smell it. Smell death. It had hung thickly in the air and forced her to knees, where her screams had finally brought the building’s security running.

  She waited, expecting Brody to press for details, exploit a weakness, but he didn’t. Whatever his thoughts at the moment, his face didn’t give them away. The man would make a damned fine poker player, she decided. And as someone who had too much to lose, she would be smart to keep that in mind.

  Even so, when he finished off his wine and returned the empty glass to the countertop, she had to fight the impulse to ask if he wanted another glass. Was it perverse of her to be enjoying his company? To find the man as fascinating as he was handsome?

  “I should be going,” he said as he rose to his feet. “Thank you for the wine.”

  She walked with him to the front entrance, telling herself it was half a glass of chardonnay on an empty stomach that left her feeling so off balance. Just as she wanted to believe that, earlier, it had been responsible for that near miss that surely would have been a kiss had he not backed away. Kate certainly hadn’t been going anywhere. She’d been waiting. Wondering. All but holding her damn breath in anticipation.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her. One hand was on the doorknob, but instead of opening it, he turned. His expression was oddly fierce, his poker face having gone the way of the dodo. “For the record, this won’t happen again.”

  She thought he meant coming in for a glass of wine, but he shot the assumption all to hell when he reached for her arms and tugged her closer. His mouth pressed against hers an instant before their bodies bumped together. His was unyielding, a solid wall of hard muscle and bone that her softer flesh was forced to mold against. His lips, however, were surprisingly gentle as they skimmed hers before his tongue sought entry into her mouth.

  As her practical side screamed for her to push him away, Kate’s hands went to his shoulders. Then she slipped them between their bodies, opening up a small gap. But she didn’t push. Beneath her palms, she could feel his heart beating fast, its unsteady rhythm still managing to be in sync with her own. She grabbed a couple handfuls of his dress shirt, and then she simply hung on for dear life as the room tilted and her head spun.

  God, the man knew how to kiss!

  Later, Kate would let herself wonder what possessed her to kiss him back rather than register a protest—even if only a feigned one. Later, she would let herself worry about the effect this might have on their work relationship. But right now, she didn’t object. She couldn’t. She could only rejoice in the sensations that flooded through her like water over parched soil, seeping in. Before she was ready for it to end, Brody pulled away. He did so slowly, his mouth the last point of contact…at least on his end. When he glanced down, brows lifting along with one side of his mouth, she realized her fingers remained tangled in his shirt. She unclenched her fists and stepped back, keeping her gaze trained on the wrinkled broadcloth.

  What did she say now? Thank you? Interestingly, it was another courteous reply that came to mind. It slipped past her still-tingling lips before she could think better of it.

  “Please.” It came out a raw whisper that she hoped he mistook for labored breathing.

  She continued to stare at his chest. Given its rapid rise and fall, he was experiencing difficulty catching his breath as well.

  His fingers caressed her cheek, trailed lightly over its sl
ope to the underside of her jaw. When they reached her chin, Brody applied just enough pressure to force Kate to look at him.

  “I’m sorry. I just broke my cardinal rule,” he said, looking none too pleased.

  “Mixing business with pleasure,” she guessed.

  “Close enough,” he replied cryptically, leaving her with the distinct impression it wasn’t just that he’d crossed a line he’d drawn that bothered him, but the fact that he’d crossed it with her.

  “Well, as you pointed out beforehand, it won’t happen again.”

  He gave a curt nod that served as his response, even as his gaze lowered to her mouth. Then, with a muttered oath, he turned on his heel and headed out the door.

  Chapter Five

  Kate arrived at the office early the next morning. She’d had to take a cab into the city, although the people at the garage where her car had been towed had assured her it would be returned to its space in the parking structure no later than lunchtime.

  As she disembarked the elevator, she steeled herself to face Brody again, reciting the pep talk she’d given herself on the taxi ride into the city.

  Act natural, unfazed, and professional. Smile and maintain eye contact. And, for God’s sake, don’t let him know you spent half the night thinking about that kiss and the other half reliving it in your dreams.

  As a result of the restless night, she’d had to apply concealer to the dark smudges under her eyes and a little extra blush to her pale cheeks. Brody, meanwhile, sat at the desk her father had occupied for as long as she could remember, looking every bit as gorgeous and enigmatic as he had the evening before—right after he’d kissed her to within an inch of begging to be horizontal.

  He was seated in her father’s big leather chair. His suit coat was off, his tie askew, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled halfway up his forearms, exposing that tattoo. The numbers represented a date. The inclusion of “RIP” indicated a death. Whose? Someone important enough to him to have a reminder of it permanently affixed to his arm. And he’d claimed to have another work of body art, leaving her to wonder at both the subject matter of that tat and, more importantly, where it was located. The possibilities sent an unsettling amount of heat curling through her lower body.

  She busied herself with unlocking the door to her new office, belatedly realizing she didn’t have the key. It was on the chain with the ones for her car.

  “You’re here early,” Brody commented.

  She pasted on a smile and turned. “So are you.”

  “I like the quiet.” He leaned back and the chair squeaked. They both laughed, and some of the tension ebbed. He went on. “I find I can get a lot done in the morning before the phone starts ringing and meetings begin chewing up my time.”

  “Well, I won’t distract you.”

  Wry laughter greeted her statement, but all he said was, “I put on a pot of coffee when I got in. There should be a few cups left, if you’re interested. It won’t be as good as the stuff you can brew up at home in that fancy maker of yours, but I’m willing to share.”

  “Thanks.”

  Brody nodded, then returned to whatever it was he’d been doing. A line of concentration divided his brows. If not for last night, she might have thought he was all work, no play. But a man who could kiss like that knew how to play. And then some.

  He glanced up. “Is there a problem?”

  “No!” She rushed to assure him. “No problem.”

  He smiled. “Then why are you still standing there?”

  Certainly not because she was thinking about sex. With him. On his desk. Or the credenza. Or any other flat surface that happened to be handy. Her libido fed a detailed image to her brain, causing her face to heat, but she figured he would mistake her flushed cheeks for embarrassment once she told him, “I don’t have a key.”

  “HR should have given you one yesterday.”

  “They did, but it’s in my car. Which is still at the garage.”

  “They haven’t delivered your baby yet?” The corners of his mouth twitched.

  “Not till later.”

  “How’d you get to work? The El?” he asked, almost like a dare. He was thinking about the conversation they’d had at her house and she was thinking about their kiss at the door.

  “I thought about it. But I didn’t have time to walk all the way to the nearest stop. I took a cab.”

  He pushed back from his desk and came out of his office, crossing to her in a half dozen long strides. Up close she realized that today’s tie was comprised of zigzagging rows of roaring tigers. More predators. Was she his prey?

  “I’ve got what you need, Kate.” At her startled expression, he pulled a key ring from his trouser pocket and held it aloft in front of her. “The master key. It unlocks every door in this building, or so I’ve been told. Should I give it a try?”

  “Please.” She smiled tightly and stepped back.

  Brody unlocked the door and opened it with a flourish. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

  Indeed.

  Kate crossed to her desk, set down her messenger-style bag, and booted up the computer. When she glanced to the right, the view of the city bathed in the orange glow of the morning sun had her biting back a sigh. This wasn’t the corner office she dreamed of occupying one day. Brody had that. But it was a huge step in the right direction.

  After her visit to HR the previous afternoon, she’d spent an hour moving her paper files and personal effects from her old office to this one and putting them away. Office, she thought with an inaudible sigh. Brody had been right to say the setup had been more suitable for an executive lounge. Her grandmother had preferred it that way. And her father had seen no reason to change either the room’s furnishings or the position’s duties. Back when Kate’s grandmother had been the assistant to the CEO—her husband—a big part of the job description had been to entertain both the company’s hierarchy and its clients. While her stepmother, Eliza, performed the role of hostess when functions were held at her father’s home, it was Kate’s job to schmooze clients and represent the company in public. In the past month alone she’d attended three charity luncheons, dressed as the heiress the tabloids had dubbed her.

  Her father had called her twice the previous evening. Once just after Brody had left her house and again before she’d gone to bed. Coward that she was, she’d let both calls go to voicemail. With that kiss fresh in her mind, she’d been in no mood to answer her father’s questions, and she knew he would have plenty of them. No doubt he would have spoken with Collin. Eventually, she would have to face him.

  Most likely her day of reckoning would come Sunday, when she was expected for dinner. She’d been dreading the get-together. The day was her thirtieth birthday, a fact that was sure to send her grandmother into hypercritical mode, given Kate’s single status. But now it was a good bet that the number of candles on her cake and lack of a ring on her finger wouldn’t be the main topics of conversation.

  “Killer view, isn’t it?”

  She turned to find Brody filling up her door frame. In each hand, he held a mug. They were new and big enough to hold twice the amount of coffee as the genteel cups her father had favored.

  “You brought me coffee.”

  “You looked as though you could use it.” He handed her one of the mugs.

  It was deep blue and the size of a small serving bowl. “These are new. And no saucers.”

  “Too feminine.”

  “Well, these are manly,” she assured him. On a laugh, she added, “They’re huge.”

  “Size matters.” Before her mind could detour to the other, less appropriate matters to which the phrase could apply, he was saying, “I drink a lot of coffee, so I didn’t want to be running back and forth to the pot.”

  “How very efficient.”

  “Isn’t it?” He nodded toward the window then. “Was it only the view that had you lost in thought?”

  “What else would it be?” she asked innocen
tly. She took a sip of the coffee. It was hot, black, and so strong that it could have been used to strip rust off nails. She withheld her grimace, but just barely.

  “How’s the coffee?” He leaned one broad shoulder against the door frame.

  She thought for a moment before settling on, “Robust.”

  “An interesting description.” He chuckled. “Well, the pot’s empty now if you want to make some that’s more to your liking.”

  “I’ll make another pot, but it will be strong, too. I can always water mine down.”

  “How very efficient,” he replied, parroting her earlier words. Then, “Since you like coming in early, too, how about we trade off making the coffee until the executive assistant gets here at nine? She can take over then.”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “Thought it might.” He smiled.

  “Of course, Loretta’s not going to be happy,” she replied, thinking of her father’s prickly secretary.

  “Loretta’s no longer here. I thought it best to bring in my own person. She’d been here, what, thirty years?”

  “Probably. Ever since I can remember, at any rate.”

  Brody nodded. “I let her go with a very generous retirement package. I figured she would be too immersed in the old way of doing business to be helpful. And a little too loyal to your father.”

  More loyal than his own daughter? She didn’t miss the irony.

  Neither had Brody. “How loyal are you going to be, Kate?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m loyal to this company, regardless of who is at the helm.”

  Brody didn’t hesitate before replying, “I believe you mean that.”

  Silence stretched as they eyed each other over the rims of their coffee cups. Meanwhile, another big white elephant in the room mocked them both.

  She decided to tackle it head-on. “About last night—”

  “I believe we settled that matter,” he interrupted.

  “Because you said it wouldn’t happen again?”

  He nodded. “So there’s really nothing else to talk about, is there?”

  She blinked a few times. “I guess not.”