Well, fighting off insanity had a way of making you take a long hard look at yourself. He didn’t want to discuss any of that with Brooke. “Maybe it’s something I should have done sooner.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go. I’m late for a video conference with the New York office, and I have to go over the campaign strategy with Liam.”
Brooke frowned. “Problems?”
Bill smiled. “You should know me better than that, Brooke. There are no problems, just challenges awaiting solutions.” He patted her on the arm as he made his way to the door.
She turned to watch him, and lifted her chin. “I’m not going to drop this, Bill.”
He hesitated, his hand on the door knob. He wasn’t sure if she was referring to Taylor designing lingerie, or to their personal situation. “You do what you think you need to,” he said. “And I’ll do the same.”
He stalked down the hall, frowning. Brooke was right about Taylor. She’d played a pivotal part in the downfall of his marriage. He couldn’t pretend that hadn’t happened, that she hadn’t done something that had affected his family—the family he’d sworn to protect at all costs.
He opened the stairwell door and jogged down the concrete steps. He couldn’t lie to himself, though. He’d made Taylor the scapegoat for his failed marriage, but if he was honest, he had to acknowledge the fact that he and Katie had had their problems before Taylor came on the scene.
It was hard to accept, but only he and Katie could be blamed for their failed marriage. He’d hurt his wife and, whether she was prepared to accept it or not, she’d hurt him. And they would have continued hurting each other if Taylor hadn’t forced their problems to a head.
He didn’t have to like her for it, though.
*
Taylor rapped her knuckles on the door and tried to quash her impatience. She didn’t like being summoned. Bill had called her and said he needed to discuss something important with her, then hung up before she could decline his invitation. He hadn’t answered her return calls. All four of them.
She would have just ignored his summons if she wasn’t so darned curious. What did he want to talk about? Did he finally want to open up to her about the crash? It had been that thought that had made her drag herself to his office. It wouldn’t be easy for him to open up to her, or to anyone, for that matter. No matter how frustrated he made her feel, she couldn’t turn her back on him, not when he was putting himself in such a vulnerable position. She had to respect him for that.
“Come in,” his imperious voice called.
She straightened her shoulders, shaking her hair back over her shoulders. She hadn’t bothered to try to repair her chignon after he’d destroyed it earlier that morning. She opened the door and walked in, letting the door swing closed behind her, just a little louder than necessary. He might be ready to talk, but it wouldn’t hurt to let him know there were better ways of going about it.
He sat behind his desk, jotting down notes.
“I would have thought the great Dollar Bill Spencer would be using the latest gadgets,” she remarked.
He looked up, and she sucked in a silent breath. His dark, enigmatic gaze speared her with an intensity she thought she was prepared for, but now she knew she had no defense strong enough. Instantly, the memory of their blazing hot kiss in the elevator burst into her head, and she clutched her purse tighter. That wasn’t going to happen again. She’d had enough time to calm down, to reason it out. He’d used her. He’d felt the panic rising, and had used the tools he’d been given to combat it—perfectly understandable. And it wasn’t going to happen again. It would be unprofessional on her part, too. She ignored the little well of disappointment that bubbled at the thought.
He blinked, and his teeth flashed white in a charming smile. “I like my toys, but sometimes I like the traditional way of doing things.” He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Please, take a seat.” He was being positively charming. What was going on? Did he think he needed to charm her in order to get her to listen?
She slid into the chair, a slight frown marring her brow. Bill chuckled, his smile engaging. “Don’t look so suspicious,” he said.
“What do you want, Bill?” she asked him, straight to the point. She didn’t want to be charmed by Bill Spencer. Well, she did, but—no, no, she didn’t. She gave herself a little mental shake. That kiss in the elevator had shown her how potent the man was. It would be easy to surrender to his dominance—but that’s what it would be: surrender. She wasn’t about to surrender anything to any man.
He stared at her for a moment, his gaze flicking over her hair, her face, pausing at her lips before touring her breasts, hips and legs, then sliding ever so slowly up to meet her eyes.
She glanced at the ceiling as heat flared in her cheeks. Was the air-conditioning working in here?
“I have a proposition for you,” he said, and her gaze returned to his. How—how could he make a simple sentence sound so wicked? She frowned. Was this about the kiss in the elevator after all? They couldn’t revisit that—it was too awkward. Uncomfortable. Hot.
“I think we should keep our relationship platonic,” she said hurriedly.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a business proposition,” he said.
She gasped. He wanted to pay her? What—like a mistress? She didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. Definitely offended, she told herself sternly.
“I’m not in the habit of being paid for—favors,” she said, pursing her lips.
Bill inclined his head. “Well, it’s generous to offer your services free of charge, but I think you should receive a significant reward for your talents.”
Her jaw dropped again. Free? “I’m not free, or cheap,” she said, insulted at the concept of selling her attentions. Had he lost so much confidence with the PTSD that he thought he had to pay a woman for her affection? Or just her?
She rose from her seat. “A significant reward? Don’t you think that’s a bit arrogant? Conceited, even?” She’d be the judge of whether his “reward” was significant or not. She blinked. Not that she was interested in seeing his reward.
Bill frowned and stood, stepping out from behind his desk. “I admit, I know you’ve distanced yourself from Forrester Creations, but I wouldn’t call our offer arrogant or conceited. They want you back.”
She blinked. Forrester Creations? What—oh. She was totally wrong. How embarrassing. She would have to explore why her brain had immediately jumped to a more physical conclusion. But for now, she had to let the man talk before she said something that would embarrass them both. Okay, maybe just her. She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“We want you back, Taylor,” Bill said, his voice husky as he approached her. “We want you to design for the Brooke’s Bedroom line.”
Taylor paused. “I beg your pardon?” She thought she’d understood his words, only they didn’t make sense.
“We want you to design some lingerie,” Bill said, humor twitching his lips.
She hesitated for only a brief moment. “You know, you really should give that temporary therapist a go. I could have sworn you said—”
“Design some lingerie,” Bill repeated.
She nodded. “Just as I thought. You’re crazy.”
She turned to go, but he caught hold of her wrist.
“I’m not crazy,” he said, his smile contrasting with his serious tone.
“You have to be. You’re asking me to design.” She enunciated the word clearly. “I’ve never designed anything before. Not only that, you want me to design for that woman.”
Bill shook his head. “No. We want you to design for Forrester Creations.”
“It’s not going to happen,” she said sharply. Design? Well, maybe that part wasn’t so weird. She loved clothes, particularly the designs that came out of Forrester Creations. She loved the fabric, the colors, the textures, and when both Ridge and Eric had asked her for her opinion on their sketches, they’d seemed to appreciate her f
eedback. But actually design something? For Brooke’s line? No.
She tried to free her wrist, but Bill held on. His grip wasn’t painful, just firm. “I can’t believe you’ve asked me to work with that—that woman.” Anger rose. Brooke, who had flung her line in Taylor’s face, who had danced her scantily clad body around and destroyed too many of Taylor’s relationships. “Eric will be furious if he finds out you’ve asked me,” she said.
“He knows. He was actually going to make the offer, but I wanted that privilege.”
That gave her pause. Eric was for the idea? Had she stepped into an alternative reality? She’d seen Bill in action before; he liked to stir the pot. What was he hoping to gain here?
“Why? Why did you want to ask me? Did you want to watch me dissolve into a puddle of tears? Or to see if I’d rant and rave?”
Bill frowned. “My intention wasn’t to cause you pain or distress, Taylor.” He tugged her closer. “Like I said, I’m not sure exactly what went on between you and Eric. I do know that I value your opinion, as does everybody else at Forrester Creations.”
“Well, it certainly didn’t seem like that before.” No, Brooke had been quite derisive in the days immediately after her split with Eric. Her eyes narrowed. “Does Brooke know you’re talking to me about this?”
“She does.”
“And she approves of the idea, too?”
Bill tilted his head. “Let’s just say she has her reservations. But obviously, with your history, that’s to be expected. Everyone else wants you back.”
Taylor shook her head in confusion. “I—I don’t understand. Why? I’ve never designed anything in my life.”
She listened as Bill outlined the concept to her. Designing underwear? Her? Although they did have a point—she thought they’d totally disregarded a segment of the market. It was one of the things she’d argued with Eric about, that some of the garments in the Brooke’s Bedroom line were too revealing, and not in keeping with the elegance and class of the Forrester Creations’ brand and their customer base. She’d been called a prude. Yet now they wanted her to design? Well, that would definitely make her walk the walk.
“Look, you know there are a lot of women out there who wouldn’t—couldn’t—wear the current line. But that’s not to say these women are any less attractive, or desirable, or that they shouldn’t have the opportunity to wear something that makes them feel beautiful. You’re a shrink. You have to know how much confidence a woman can get from feeling classy and gorgeous.”
Taylor arched an eyebrow. “You’re trying to use psychology on me?”
Bill shrugged, grinning. “It’s worth a try, but I’m being serious. You have a reputation for class, impeccable taste—self-respect. That’s exactly what we want to bring to Brooke’s Bedroom.”
Taylor smiled. “Why Bill, are you implying Brooke’s Bedroom has no self-respect?” Her tone was saccharine-sweet. That was something she’d been trying to point out for years now.
Bill wagged a finger at her. “You know what I mean. What do you say? Do you think you could at least sit with Caroline and discuss some ideas?”
She had to admit, the idea was intriguing, perhaps a little tempting—and so surprising. She sighed. “When you called me here, I thought it was for a completely different reason,” she said. While the thought of this new approach to Brooke’s Bedroom was exciting, she was just a little disappointed that she wasn’t there for what she’d initially thought—for Bill to finally open up to someone. Her.
Bill’s forehead furrowed. “What did you think you were here for?” His voice was deep, husky. “What did you think I was going to ask you when I mentioned a business proposition?” His thumb stroked across her wrist, right were her pulse pounded. Surely he had to feel its acceleration at his touch?
Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she dropped her gaze. Yes, well, she wouldn’t tell him exactly what she’d thought. “I thought you wanted to finally talk to someone about the crash,” she said.
Bill pulled her closer.
They were standing so close now. She could feel his breath whisper across her cheek, smell the aftershave he wore, a blend of amber and leather, entirely in keeping with the man who wore it.
“Why waste time talking?” he taunted her softly as he slid a hand through the hair at her nape. She trembled at the touch. Each follicle seemed to stir at his caress, sending awareness sweeping over her. His hand lightly massaged her scalp.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. His scent was seductive, his body emanating a warmth that was so tempting to reach out for, to embrace. She could hear him breathing, and realized his breath had sped up, as had hers.
Her eyes flicked open. He was staring at her, his eyes dark with passion. He lowered his head.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispered, tilting her head to the side. She told herself she was avoiding his kiss, not offering her neck. She was a psychiatrist, and he needed her help. She couldn’t—shouldn’t—
His lips pressed against the lobe of her ear before blazing a trail down her throat. “Why not?”
She swallowed. Her breasts swelled in her bra, her nipples tightening. “Because—” She faltered as his lips grazed her collarbone. She shuddered. Uh, what? She couldn’t remember why not. Wait—the crash.
“Because you need someone to talk to,” she said hoarsely. “Live your truth, remember?” Then she forgot the thread of their conversation when she caught another whiff of his cologne.
Oh, goodness, he was warm. His arms closed around her as his mouth teased the sensitive area where her neck met her shoulder. Flames of desire licked at her core, and she raised her hands to his arms.
“I don’t want to talk,” he murmured against her neck, and his voice hummed through her, a deep vibration that sent her trembling from within. Liquid desire pooled between her thighs. It was too hot, too much, she was fast losing track of where they were, what they were talking about. It was new, it was disconcerting—and oh, so exciting. She pulled back from him, trying to keep her tenuous grip on reason. The last time he’d gotten this close, it was because he was trying to avoid another attack. She didn’t want to be used again, not that way.
“This isn’t professional, or clinical,” she said to him, breathing deeply, rapidly.
“I’m not your patient, remember?” His voice rumbled against her throat.
“I—I mean, our contact is based on respect and—” Sweet heaven, that thing he was doing with his lips, “—and support.”
He nodded as he kissed his way back up her throat. “You’re right.” He was driving her crazy. “We’ll have to base it on sex.”
He covered her lips with his.
*
He felt her surrender, literally; she relaxed against him, her mouth opening beneath his. He drank her in, enjoying the slide of her tongue against his. Her arms reached up behind his neck, and he tightened his grasp on her, pulling her hips to his.
He could feel the desk behind him, and he turned them around. Bending his knees, but keeping his lips locked with hers, he lifted her onto the hard surface. She moaned into his mouth, and need, hot and stark, lanced through him.
He moved between her legs, resting his hips against hers as his hands caressed her. He could feel her warmth through the silk blouse. He raised his hand to cup her breast, and he wasn’t sure if the resulting moan came from his lips or hers. Taylor shifted, allowing him to press even closer. She arched her back, pressing herself to him, and he luxuriated in the feel of her breasts against his chest.
The woman was amazing. She had him trembling with a kiss. She gave the impression of being cool, calm, but right here, right now, she was a temptress, making him forget his business, his worries—their history. All he could think about was her body against his, her lips that were slowly driving him mad with need, the warm and welcoming curves beneath his fingertips.
He wanted her horizontal. Was his desk clear? Did he really care if anything broke? No. Maybe the floor. His chair?
“Oh my God!”
His sentiments, exactly. He wasn’t a religious man, but he felt like he’d found heaven in Taylor’s arms.
Taylor stiffened beneath him, and he realized neither of them had spoken.
He lifted his head. Taylor was panting, her breasts rising under the silken material. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with a heated hunger that was being slowly banked by cool reason.
He looked over his shoulder, frustrated by the interruption.
Brooke Logan stood in the doorway, her face pale with shock. “What is going on, here?” she gasped.
Chapter Eight
Bill glanced at Taylor, who was running a shaky hand through her dark locks. Wasn’t it obvious?
“It’s customary to knock, you know,” he stated baldly. Frustration tightened his muscles. Taylor rose from her position on his desk, adjusting her clothing. The hem of her blouse had slipped out from her pants. Had he done that? Even now, he wanted to reach out and slide his fingers underneath the fabric, to discover whether her skin was as smooth as the silk she covered it with.
“I did. You didn’t hear me. I came to discuss an issue—only to find this,” she said, gesturing toward him and Taylor, as though she couldn’t quite find the right words to describe what she’d seen. She held a folder in her hand. “What is going on here?”
“We were kissing.”
“I can see that,” Brooke snapped. “Why?”
Taylor’s chin rose at the chastisement in the woman’s tone that even Bill could hear. He watched with fascination as her blue eyes sparked with anger and determination.
“I don’t need to explain myself to you, Brooke.”
Collision Course: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 7