Seduction and the CEO

by Barbara Dunlop

  Jared’s gaze fixed on the disheveled bed for a long beat. His eyes hardened to sapphire, and a muscle ticked next to his left eye. “Must have been a staff member sleeping here.”

  “You think?” She wondered why they hadn’t fixed up the rest of the house.

  He seemed to guess her question. “I imagine they ate at the cookhouse with everybody else.”

  He turned his attention fully to Melissa and held out a broad callused hand. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift home.”

  “You drove?” Why hadn’t she heard the engine?

  “I rode Tango.”

  She instinctively shrank back.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to ride double on him.”

  “Of course not.” She sure hoped there wasn’t a trick to riding double.

  “Then let’s go. You need to eat something.”

  “I’ll be fi—”

  “No, you won’t. Skipping lunch was a stupid decision. Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed to stay alive this long.” He reached out and grasped her hand, tugging her out of the bedroom and down the hall.

  “Did your great-grandfather have siblings?” she dared to ask.

  “He had a sister.”

  “That explains the bunk beds.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  Melissa blinked in the strong sunlight, her focus going immediately to where Tango was tied to the porch.

  Jared mounted, then maneuvered the horse flush against the railingless platform, holding out his hand.

  Melissa took a deep breath. She braced herself against his forearm, then arced her right leg high, swinging her butt to land with an unladylike thud, off-center behind the saddle on Tango’s broad back.

  The horse grunted and stepped sideways.

  Jared swore out loud, reached back to snag her waist and shoved her into place as her arms went instinctively around his body and clung tight.

  “Sorry,” she muttered against his back.

  “You’re a klutz,” he told her. “On top of everything else, you’re a klutz.”

  “I never learned to ride properly,” she admitted.

  “You need to learn some life skills,” he responded. “I don’t even care which ones. But damn, woman, you’ve got to learn how to do something.”

  He urged Tango into a fast walk. The motion and play of muscles were unsettling beneath Melissa’s body. She kept her arms tight around Jared, slowly becoming aware of the intimacy of their position. Her breasts were plastered against his back, his cotton shirt and her T-shirt little barrier to the heat of their bodies. Her cheek rested against him, and every time she inhaled, her lungs were filled with his subtle, woodsy musk scent.

  She was quickly getting turned on. Arousal boiled in the pit of her belly and tingled along her thighs. Her nipples had grown hard, and for a mortifying moment, she wondered if he could feel them.

  “Where do you live in Indiana?” he asked, voice husky.

  “Gary.”

  “You have a job there?”

  “Not yet.” She’d decided claiming to have a job would raise too many questions about why she needed money, and how she had enough time off to travel across the country. “An apartment?”

  “I’ve been staying with friends.” Not having a job meant she couldn’t claim to be paying rent. Unless she had investments or family money. In which case, she wouldn’t need to earn money for a bus ticket.

  As embarrassing as it might be, she had to pretend to be as big a loser as Jared had decided she was in order to maintain her cover story.

  He grunted his disapproval, and she felt a twinge of regret that she couldn’t set the record straight. But it wasn’t her job to impress Jared Ryder. And it sure wasn’t her job to be attracted to him. She’d have to fight her instincts on both fronts.

  Four

  N ear the cookhouse, Jared helped Melissa down from Tango’s back. She staggered to a standing position, and he could see the pain reflected in her expression as she stretched the muscles in her thighs. If the woman had ever been on a horse before, he’d eat saddle leather. “There you are,” came Stephanie’s accusatory voice.

  Jared felt a twinge of satisfaction at the thought of Melissa getting her comeuppance. But then he realized Stephanie was talking to him. He’d obviously missed her jumping practice.

  “I gave Melissa a lift,” he explained.

  Stephanie looked at Melissa. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I was—”

  “Downriver,” Jared quickly put in. “Walking.” The explanation earned him a confused look from Melissa.

  Too bad. He’d worry about that one later. For now, he didn’t want to plant any thoughts about the old cabin in Stephanie’s head.

  Stephanie looked from Jared to Melissa, then back again. “Well, you missed a no-fault round,” she told him, putting her pert nose in the air.

  “I guess you’ll just have to do it again.”

  “You think it’s easy?”

  “No,” he acknowledged. “I think it’s very, very hard. But I also know you’re a perfectionist.”

  “I wish,” Stephanie retorted. But Jared knew it was true. You didn’t become one of the top-ten show jumpers in the country without a strong streak of perfectionism.

  He handed Tango’s reins to Melissa. “He’s all yours. When you’re done taking off the tack, put him back in the red-gated pen.”

  Melissa glanced down at the leather reins. Then she looked at Jared, her eyes widening with trepidation.

  Yeah, he thought so.

  He gave a heavy sigh and took back the reins. “Or I could give you a hand,” he offered. “Then you can grab something to eat.”

  He felt Stephanie’s curious gaze behind him, and he twisted his head to give her an I-told-you-so stare. If she wanted him to have time to watch her jump, she shouldn’t have hired such a hopeless case.

  He wrapped the reins around the horn of his saddle, clipped a lead rope onto Tango’s bridle, then walked the few steps to the hitching rail in front of the stable.

  “You can start with the cinch,” he called over his shoulder, and Melissa quickly scrambled into action, hoofing it across the loose-packed dirt of the pen.

  Stephanie watched them for a moment longer. Then he saw a small, hopeful smile quirk the corners of her mouth before she turned away.

  Great. His good deed was obviously not going to go unpunished. He was helping Melissa out of pity, not out of attraction. She might be a gorgeous woman, but he liked his dates with a little more gray matter and a whole lot more ambition.

  She came to a halt a few feet back from Tango’s flank. Her hands curled into balls by her sides, strands of her blond hair fluttering across her flushed cheeks as she blinked at the tall black horse.

  “The cinch,” Jared prompted, releasing the reins and gently drawing the bit from Tango’s mouth.

  Melissa didn’t make a move.

  He flipped the stirrup up and hooked it over the saddle horn. “The big, shiny silver buckle,” he offered sarcastically.

  She took a half step forward, then wiped her palms down the front of her jeans.

  Jared turned, planting his hands on his hips.

  She pursed her lips, reaching her hand toward the buckle. But Tango shifted, and she snapped it back.

  “He’s not going to bite you.”

  “What if he kicks me?”

  “Just don’t do anything sudden.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel a whole lot better.”

  This was getting ridiculous. “You know, you might want to think about another line of work.”

  “I was perfectly happy scooping out pens.”

  “Nobody’s happy scooping out pens.”

  “I was.”

  “Well, that’s a dead-end career.” He took a step forward and captured her hand.

  She tried to jerk away.

  “The trick is,” said Jared in the most soothing voice he could muster, “to let him know what you’re doing.” He urged he
r reluctant hand toward Tango’s withers. “That way, nobody is surprised.”

  “Is ‘surprised’ a euphemism?”

  “I mean it literally.”

  Tango craned his neck to see what was going on.

  “Your touch should be firm,” Jared advised, keeping himself between Melissa and the horse’s head. He gave Tango a warm-up pat with his free hand before placing Melissa’s palm on the horse’s coat. “That way, he knows you have confidence.”

  “I don’t have confidence.”

  “Sure you do.” He let go of her hand, and she immediately pulled it back from the horse.

  Jared drew a frustrated sigh. “I’ve seen five-year-olds with more guts than you.”

  She glared at him.

  “Lots of them,” he affirmed.

  Her glare lasted several seconds longer, but then she squared her shoulders, screwed up her face and turned to the saddle.

  “Buckle first,” Jared instructed as her small soft fingers tackled the leather. “Now pull the strap through the rings.”

  It took her a minute to get the mohair strap untangled and dangling straight down.

  “You want to take the saddle and blanket off together. Grab it front and back. Lift, don’t drag it. Then carry it into the stable. I’ll show you where to put it.”

  He stepped back to give her some room.

  Tango was sixteen hands, so it was a reach for Melissa to get a firm grip. But she grabbed the saddle, lifted, pulled back, stumbled in the loosely packed dirt and nearly fell over backward.

  Jared quickly wrapped his arm around the small of her back, averting disaster. Her waist was small, her body and frame light. No wonder she was such a wimp when it came to physical work.

  “You okay?” he asked reflexively.

  “Fine.” She firmed up her grip on the heavy saddle and straightened away before he could get used to the feel of her in his arms. But not before he realized how easily he could get used to the feel of her in his arms.

  He wondered if she danced. Then for a second he allowed himself to imagine her in a dress. A dress would suit her, something silky and flowing, maybe a bright blue or magenta. Despite her hesitancy in the stable yard, something told him she’d have self-confidence in a different setting.

  She all but staggered into the stable, and he was forced to give her points for grit.

  “Third rack from the end,” he instructed, following with the reins.

  She plunked the saddle down.

  “You can clean it after lunch,” he told her.

  She nodded, obviously out of breath. Then she dusted off the front of her navy tank top.

  “But first we move Tango.”

  “Of course we do.” Her tone was sarcastic as she turned to face him.

  “You ticked off at me? For helping you?”

  She studied his eyes. “No.” But the tone told him she was.

  “You can always quit.”

  “I’m not going to quit.” Her annoyance was replaced by defiance as she started for the stable door. “Let’s go.”

  “You want to lead him from the left,” Jared called after her as he hung up the reins, positive now that she’d never been near a horse before today.

  Tango wasn’t intimidating. He was an incredibly well-trained, twelve-year-old saddlebred, solid as a rock and not the least bit flighty or malicious. Any horseman, groom or stable hand would recognize that in an instant.

  He came through the doorway to find Melissa sizing up Tango from about five feet away.

  “Talk to him,” Jared advised. “Then give him a pat and undo the rope.”

  “Is there a trick to it?” she asked, apparently having given up any pretext of knowing what she was doing. “Which part?”

  Over her shoulder, she cut him an impatient glare, and he was forced to tamp down a smile.

  “Pull the end.” He demonstrated, tugging the quick-release knot. Then he handed her the rope. “Stand on this side. Make sure he can see you. Don’t let the rope trail.” Jared got her positioned properly. He didn’t know how much she’d have to work between here and Seattle, but she stood a much better chance of avoiding starvation if she had a clue about what she was doing.

  Melissa started walking, and Tango fell in easily beside her. Her face was pinched and pale, and there was clear tension across her slim shoulders as she made her way toward the ranch road, but at least she was making the effort.

  A couple of Stephanie’s border collies streaked toward them, obviously assuming there was work to be done. Melissa tensed, and Jared put an arm around her. “They won’t hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “They look…friendly.” But her voice was slightly higher pitched than normal. “Will they scare Tango?” “Tango’s bomb-proof.”

  The dogs circled the small group a couple of times, then settled in back of Tango’s heels, obviously up for whatever the job might be.

  Melissa led the horse in silence down the slight slope of the dirt road, curving east toward the river and a row of horse pens. Stephanie was teaching a junior jumping class in the main arena behind them. The Ryder farrier was working on a yearling with the help of two cowboys who were trying to teach the twitchy colt the proper etiquette for hoof care. Meanwhile, stable hands moved hay, filled water troughs and repaired fences.

  There was an endless cycle of work on a horse ranch. When he was in the city, Jared missed the predictable rhythm. In his corporate life, he was putting out one fire after another. He couldn’t plan a single day, never mind a season.

  “Did you come to an agreement about Tappee?” she asked as they approached the red-gated pen.

  Jared shook his head, increasing his pace to unlatch the gate in front of the horse. “Stephanie voted with me, but Otto sided with Anthony.”

  “Otto?”

  “Otto Durand.”

  Her forehead furrowed as she cautiously led Tango through the gate. “I don’t understand.”

  Jared pulled it shut and flipped the latch. “There’s a clip under his chin. Release the lead rope.”

  She reached cautiously under the horse’s head. But she found the clip and clicked it free.

  Tango instantly reacted to the familiar sound. Knowing he was free, he bolted, spraying clods of dirt at Melissa.

  It was all Jared could do not to laugh at the horrified expression on her face.

  She sputtered out the dirt while the horse rolled onto his back, relieved to be free of the saddle.

  “What don’t you understand?” he asked, instead.

  She brushed away her hair and rubbed the back of her hand over her face. “I don’t understand why you had to vote. Aren’t you CEO of Ryder International?”

  “This isn’t a Ryder International project.”

  “Oh. I thought…”

  Jared cracked the gate open to man-size so they could exit the pen. “It’s the Genevieve Fund.”

  Melissa raised her brow in a question.

  “The Genevieve Ryder Memorial Fund,” Jared explained. “It’s a charitable trust named after my mother.”

  “Is your mother…?”

  He nodded. “She was killed twenty years ago.”

  Her forehead creased. “I’m sorry.”

  Jared shrugged, brushing past the sharp stab of conflicting emotions that tightened his chest. “It’s been twenty years.”

  Melissa’s green eyes were round and soft. Her voice dropped to a husky level that somehow hit him in the solar plexus. “I’m still sorry.”

  They stared at each other in silence, and once again he was struck by the intelligence in her eyes. Only this time, it was laced with compassion. There was something he didn’t understand about this woman, something lurking just beyond his comprehension.

  “There are five members of the Genevieve Fund board,” he told her, leaning an arm on a fence rail, forcing the frustrating dilemma from his head.

  “Who’s the fifth?” She mirrored his posture.
/>   “My brother, Royce.”

  “I take it he gets to break the tie?”

  “He’ll be here on Saturday.”

  “Does he work on the ranch or with the construction company?”

  “Neither. He works for Ryder International, but he’s involved in acquisitions, not in the day-to-day business.”

  “So he was the one who found Saxena Electronics?”

  And there it was again. “How do you know about Saxena?”

  “I told you, Jared.” She smoothed her mussed hair back from her forehead. “I read the newspapers.”

  “And you remember obscure facts like that?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s a blessing. Sometimes it’s a curse.”

  “Ever heard of Bosoniga?”

  “Little country in West Africa.” She grinned, revealing flashing white teeth. “Is this a quiz?”

  “We’re building a school there.”

  Her head bobbed up and down. “Good choice. The monarchy is stable, so poverty and infrastructure will be your only problems.”

  He lifted his hand, then brought it down again on the rough wood of the fence, struggling to make Melissa’s lifestyle add up in his head. “Why don’t you have a real job?”

  “Define a real job.”

  “An office, where’d you put that brain of yours to work from nine to five.”

  “I don’t think they’d let me wander across the country.”

  “How long have you been wandering across the country?”

  Her mouth tightened imperceptibly, and something flashed in the depths of her eyes. Fear? Pain? He was reminded once again that she could be running from something or someone.

  But then the look was gone.

  “Not long,” she answered. “Do you think Royce will side with his family or with Anthony and Otto?”

  “Anthony is our cousin.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “Royce is a risk taker. He’ll offer to fly down to Tappee himself.”

  “He’s a pilot?”

  Jared choked out a laugh. “He’s definitely a pilot. I think he likes flying around the world more than he likes investigating companies.”

  “Can I meet him when he gets here?”

  Jared tensed. A chill hit his body, and a warning sparked in his brain. “Why?”

  She drew back, obviously reacting to his expression.