by Arden, Susan
As he gazed at her, his past left a bad taste in his mouth. Sam conversely imbued a breath of fresh sweet-scented air that he was sure would clear his head, if he’d ever consent to being crazy enough to pursue such a vision.
“Over by the windows now. I’ve got to change cameras.”
She tugged his arms. Languidly, she rolled her bottom lip under her teeth, as though she was toying with an idea. “You’re good at what you do, aren’t you? I’ve seen most of your work. As a matter of fact, I bet you’re the reason why people flock to our properties. You don’t just photograph for World Travel. Do you? Didn’t you once have your work featured in some galleries around Boston? I could have sworn when I was in school, I saw some of your work. Wild outdoors. Harsh landscapes. You’ve been to places no one dares.”
“The world must be getting pretty small. I’m from Boston. And unbelievably, when I first started out, I had a couple of local showings back home.” Christ, how could this be happening? Years ago, it seemed, he’d sold photographs to some of the artsy galleries. What more would a man want to hear? She’d noticed he was more than the tiki bar tourist spots he photographed.
Sam Cainwright was something to get lost in, and for the moment, Rob imagined diving deep into what she was promising, perhaps without even knowing it. Or did she?
Chapter 3
For once, Sam was glad to be her father’s little project. Being summoned away from school to do her duty had been downright medieval. She’d never had any desire to follow in her father’s footsteps until she’d learned that her mother’s condition was worse than she’d been told while she was at the university. The doctor told her that her mother would more than likely die before the end of the year. Sam refused to hurt her ailing mother by openly contradicting her father, so she’d set her writing dreams aside and returned to work for her father’s company, just so she could be near her mother. It was the absolute least she could do for the one person who’d always believed in her. Her heart pinched as she thought of her mom.
“How long have you been in this position? Give me a feel for your duties. There’s certainly more to it than corporate shopping sprees. Your to-do list is probably a mile long.”
Rob’s brilliant blue eyes shone with interest one moment, while his tone mocked her in the next beat. Like now, and she wanted to smack him. “Not long really, just a few weeks. I graduated in May, and truth be told, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. Like I said, I mostly sit through meetings. Next week, I’ll make a grand sweep, traveling to our major national holdings to meet the key staff. Face time, I presume.”
The weight of the boardroom boredom almost made her yawn. Every day spent within her father’s office building, one of her father’s fortresses, taxed her—or at least it had until Rob brightened up the place. She was fascinated by the way he contemplated her, and heat blazed from his eyes, the same fire she’d witnessed when those elevator doors had shut. He’d made her so nervous that she’d frozen and giggled, staring back at his skyscraper sexiness.
The raw power he’d exuded scared and captivated her. The more she wanted to step away, the closer she found herself. Somehow, the man made her want to shed the many ties that bound her. She grimaced, imagining her father’s expression if he were to find her talking and flirting instead of working the board members on her agenda.
“Not too shabby, considering the economy.” He repositioned a tripod across the room.
“Perhaps.”
“What was your major?” he asked.
“French literature in my freshman year. I dreamt of being a writer, but that all changed.” She didn’t include her father had threatened that she either consider a business track or find a way to repay her own college loans. “I ended up with an MBA and minor in English lit and French.”
“That’s pretty broad. Bet you were busy.” He kept snapping photographs of her, moving her body this way or that until they were inches apart.
She inhaled his scent and absorbed the way his clothes fit and the color of his hair. She imagined threading her fingers through his hair, striking in a mix of red and brown like the copper urns in front of the building that changed depending upon the time of day and way the sunlight fell.
“Still am, from sun up to sundown. No rest for the wicked or those tied to their family. It can get dry pretty quick,” she muttered, rubbing her fingers along the edge of her desk.
“Dry? I don’t picture you being the least bit boring. Maybe overworked is a better summation.”
She nodded, inhaling, and her breasts began to tighten. The man had her aching to touch him. She inhaled deeply, trying to force the urge away.
He came up next to her, moving her toward the window. “What do you do for pleasure?”
“Pleasure?” Her heart hammered in her chest. “I-I don’t know.”
He laughed. “Sure you do. What you do when you’re not at work.”
Away from the office, when she had a rare moment to herself, she steeped herself in historical research. She was well into the final revision of a historical novel based upon the life of Duchess Belcher during the French Renaissance. Sam and the business world were like oil and champagne. Never would they happily combine. But today was so different because Rob was so different. “Uhm, I read,” she murmured, gazing down at his hands as they skillfully worked the dials on his camera. “I’m sorry about the elevator…you know, downstairs.”
“Not a problem. Just relax. I’m going to adjust your stance. Lean into my arms. Yeah, like that.” He brushed back her hair, lightly trailing his finger over her cheek.
Her nipples hardened, and a rash of chill bumps spread over her body. A tingling wave had begun to grow the moment his hands touched her, and then when her body slid against his a clench of pleasure unfurled in her belly, moving downward into places that began to throb.
“Hold that pose.” He stepped back to his camera.
She gazed at him; his aquamarine eyes stared back. She lowered her lids, wishing to be someone else, someone he might find inviting.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice commanding her. She snapped her gaze back to him. “Good girl.”
Oh Jesus. She did not want to be a good girl around him.
He kept changing position within her office, and she surreptitiously tracked him. He was drop-dead gorgeous, something she’d noticed when he’d rolled his eyes at her downstairs and then arched a brow. Men like Rob didn’t march to a different drum—they beat the drummer over the head, demanding that he be quiet, before seducing his next conquest.
His disregard for office politics, coupled with his arrogance, drew her. He was nothing like the talking heads in suits that brown-nosed her father in order to maintain their overpaid positions.
In Rob’s presence, she felt out of place in the office, if not the company—no more necessary than a Shetland pony in a corner office. Before today, she’d detested and resented being used as her father’s newest marketing ploy.
She sighed glancing over at Rob. He’ll be out the door in a little while. Gone.
She chafed in her inability to stand up to her father. She desperately longed to be writing, not listening to her father’s business investors and corporate yes-men drone on and on about boosting sales for diversified earnings. Sitting in daily meetings, she’d mentally sketched out scenes about courtiers, imagining details such as the tapestries that were once hung in castles, or the farms that might exist along a French countryside.
Now, in her well-appointed office with a man whose body and words utterly captivated her, she imagined what it would be like to be in a large bed in one of those castles, doing anything and everything with him. God, she longed for a night when a man like Rob with rock-hard biceps and narrow, tapered hips would hold her in place on an antique feather tick. She had no doubts Rob was a pro at using his mouth and body to make women scream in French, English, Spanish, or incoherently from the sweep of his tongue. A sudden blast of heat billowed across her skin, making her shift
and pull at her neckline.
She gazed at the wide expanse of Rob’s shoulders, and a tiny shiver of pleasure tickled her ribcage. She’d dated guys in college, but nothing serious had ever come of it. Most had asked her out in an effort to impress her father or, on the flipside, avoided her in fear of him. She was forever caught in Randall Cainwright’s shadow, and now, she was tired of being the son he wished he’d had. With Rob, something clicked. He made her yearn for something wild and crazy, a far cry from the life she was living, overwhelmed by her father’s demands and her mother’s illness, so unhappy she escaped into daydreams rather than be crushed by sadness.
“What do you do when you’re not behind a camera?” She focused on the man before her.
“Nothing worth mentioning, I can assure you. Trouble mostly. Nothing a woman like you’d know anything about.”
Trouble? Now that sounds positively splendid. “I think you dead wrong there.”
He flashed her a seductive grin, one that hinted at wickedness, as if echoing her fantasy about trouble of a different sort. Everything about him spoke as though in sensual whispers, creeping across the carpet.
His thick, burnished hair came well past his shirt collar, and the way his body spread out powerfully before her prompted a longing to tell him, “Let’s just forget all this photo nonsense, shall we?”
Rob was a doorway to escape, and she longed to find a place to feel young and alive, rather than living like a captive in a life that was swallowing her up heart and soul.
“How’d you get rooked into doing this job?” she asked, twirling a strand of hair.
He moved closer. “I was in town, and your father asked.”
“Do you always do everything he asks?” She glanced up at him through her lashes.
He arched a brow at her, wearing that same piercing expression, and she felt a pang of regret for acting like the spoiled offspring he most likely expected her to be.
“I don’t have much contact with your father, more so with the PR department. I don’t think your father could pick me out of a two-man lineup.”
“Good to know.” Great to know. Rob had experience, and she sought a getaway, an escape. She hungered to be someone else, anyone other than the corporate entity she’d been forced to become. Nothing insane…a fun-filled one-nighter like most people her age had tasted.
She longed to feel his hands on her body, to know what it was like to be delivered into a realm of pleasure by a man like Rob. The space between her legs swelled as she imagined his arousal pushing against her, making her dizzy.
Sam didn’t need or want a man who intended to live vicariously through her, someone who would be with her simply because he was in awe of the great Randall Cainwright. No, she craved a man who would be willing to stand up and do the exact opposite of what her father proposed. “Are you a betting man, Rob?”
He laughed. “Not usually. What do you have in mind?”
“Heads or tails?”
He shook his head. “Do you take me for a fool? I want to know what I’m wagering before I make any promises.” He grinned at her, and then looked around the room again. “Let’s move over here before the morning sun lights up this side of the building.”
She followed him, trying to frame her proposition in such a way that he couldn’t resist what she proposed. “Ever feel like you’ve got to escape? Get the heck out of Dodge?”
“Haven’t we all?” He said, stilling and facing her. His piercing expression tore into her, making her whole body shimmer. “But not everyone has a limo or a private jet to haul them away from it all, Miss Cainwright.”
Her body trembled, and she fought to keep her voice steady. “Heads to Palm Beach and tails, it’s the Keys.”
“Sorry…what? Palm Beach or the Keys?”
“Just as you said. Some of us do have access to a private jet, Rob. Let’s go somewhere after we finish here. It’s Friday. What have you got planned for the weekend?”
His eyes widened and held her gaze for a beat. Something in his stance ignited a spark inside her, and then the heat blazed from the way his gaze strolled up and down her body. He nodded sending a fiery bolt up her spine, kick-starting her heart.
“Here.” He reached into his pocket. “Use this.” He placed a warm silver half-dollar on her palm face up. Their hands touched releasing electrical pulses across her skin. She tossed the coin high in the air, and he opened his hand and caught it, then held his fist closed.
“Well, where are we headed?”
Slowly, he unfurled long, strong fingers. On his palm, John F. Kennedy’s effigy reappeared.
“Palm Beach,” she whispered.
“What’s going on in Palm Beach?” The booming voice of her father seemed to pull all the oxygen out of the air.
“Uh…Dad, I was thinking about our recent purchase. Thought Rob and I might go up and take some photographs there.”
Her father crossed his arms, gazing around her office. “We haven’t announced that deal, but by the time this article is featured, we will have made it public. Great thinking, Sam.” Her dad, never one for missing a moment to spread it on thick, swung around and faced Rob. “Rob, it’s good to see you. Thank you for taking this on.”
“Always a pleasure, Mr. Cainwright.” Rob reached for Randall’s hand, gripped tight, and shook.
“Sam, Rob’s our go-to man for photo coverage. Make certain you get his card. I don’t trust anyone else,” Her father said, then slapped Rob on the back.
“I think you’re right,” she murmured, hoping the heat rioting over her face had gone unnoticed.
Her dad stood between them and lowered his voice. “We’re excited about the change of guard here, but we don’t want to scare our investors. Sam’s just getting her sea legs, and I want to imbue confidence in her ability. That, more than anything, must come across in this feature. The AP will run the article in Newsweek next month, and the wire will pick it up to feature it in nationally published syndicates. Good credits for you, eh Rob? Better be good for us.”
Even in front of relative strangers, her father never failed to remind her that she wasn’t the prized son. The irony that her love of historical fiction and the overarching need for an heir by her father wasn’t fictional at all.
“I think you’ll like what Rob’s done so far. You off to the golf course?”
Her father snorted. “It’s Friday, and I deserve an early day. But you, my dear, have this to deal with. Take Rob out to lunch, why don’t you? Show him you’re not a hard-ass like your old man.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” She certainly wanted to wine and dine the man. Finally, her corporate credit card might come into good use. Her belly roiled at the thought of an evening in the company of a man who clearly knew what to do with a woman, but in the next second, her heart sank into the pit of her stomach.
“That’s very kind of you, but I’ve got a photo shoot later,” Rob announced.
Obviously, he didn’t want to buy into this mess, and she was beginning to feel like no one did, unless they were trying to get a piece of Cainwright empire in the process.
Her father lifted his head. “Son, I’d be mighty grateful if you took care of this to the end.” His piercing stare meant one thing; he expected allegiance, and anyone who opposed him had to watch the hell out.
Great. Another commandment from her father, who made her a regular charity case. She gripped the coin in her hand and ruefully inhaled. A shadow fell across her body.
“Hey, you still game for West Palm? My car’s parked downstairs,” Rob said with a reassuring smile.
For the first time, she caught sight of the two dimples that adorably creased his cheeks. His gaze caressed her, as though he couldn’t care less whether her name was Cainwright or Cainwrong. His deep voice blanketed her with courage, and her desire to escape surged more than ever.
Tears pricked her eyelids. Regardless of how much she gave up or what she did, she’d never be the one thing she couldn’t be—a
man. She’d never be Randall Cainwright IV. Now, with Rob in front of her, for once, she was oh-so-glad she was very much a woman.
Her father stood at the doorway, pretending to answer a question from Marcia, but she could tell he was all ears. His hearing was more sensitive than a cell tower, so she watched her tone and words whenever he was around.
“Sure thing. The property is beachfront, private, entirely undisturbed. We can stop by the architect’s office downstairs and take some shots there. You’ve probably already taken a hundred more than you need up here.”
Randall faced them. “Minds made up? Good. I’m pleased. When do you think the proofs will be ready?”
“First of next week.” Rob moved—nearly indiscernibly, but she noticed—closer to her side the second her father had begun speaking.
“Well, I’ll be in touch then. Sam…Rob, let’s make history in Palm Beach. Those shots may make a world of difference in paving the way forward.” He smiled and tapped his forehead, a regular commander-in-chief.
Sam’s whole body exhaled when her father left.
Rob turned to face her. “You okay? You’re as white as the stack of paper on your desk.”
“It’s just my father. He’s so…he’s slightly over the top.” She felt as if she was being pulled in two directions. She wanted to let Rob off the hook, but her father had meant what he said. If she or anyone defied him, they’d be cut off. She’d seen it happen to her own mother. When her parents had fought, and her mom had dared to oppose her father by moving out, the funds had dried up, and suddenly they went from opulence to living on their wits. Sam had already experienced moving into houses in unfamiliar neighborhoods when her mother separated from her father on more than one occasion, and she would never forget the frightened, bitter tears her mother had shed when her bank account had been frozen. Suddenly, so-called family and friends had closed all doors to them.
Either you’re with me or against me took on stark meaning in the Cainwright world. Sam wasn’t prepared at that moment to be on the losing side of such an equation. Not yet.