Seduction and the CEO

by Barbara Dunlop

  He saw her smile in the blurry reflection of the window. “I’m a pretty good liar.”

  “Good to know.” He restrained himself from resting his hands on her shoulders, even though he longed to touch her again.

  She turned, and his desire ramped up. “What do you want me to do?”

  Jared bit his tongue over the loaded question, but his expression obviously gave him away.

  “You.” She poked him squarely in the chest. “Have to promise to behave yourself.”

  “I will. If you tell me what that means.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “It means…” She seemed to stumble. “It means not looking at me like you’re the big bad wolf and I’m carrying a basket of goodies.”

  “It’ll probably help the charade,” he reasoned.

  “It’ll make me jumpy.”

  “It should,” was his blunt answer.

  “Jared,” she warned.

  “I’ll behave myself,” he promised. “But it’ll help if you do a couple of things for me.”

  “What?”

  “Wear a gunnysack, and a veil, don’t talk in that sexy voice and, for the love of God, quit smelling so decadently delicious.”

  Back inside her cottage, Melissa was all but shaking with reaction to Jared’s words. And to his kisses. And to the overwhelming opportunity he’d unknowingly handed to her.

  She was having dinner with his family. Dinner with the Ryders—a private meal where she could ask as many questions as she liked, about growing up, their ranch, their charity trust, their businesses.

  She already knew the article would show them in a positive light. Both Jared and Stephanie were hardworking, successful people. The fact that they commemorated their parents’ deaths was admirable, and their grandfather’s recent death would add a poignancy that readers would lap up like kittens with fresh cream.

  She lowered herself into the armchair beside the cottage window, struggling to frame her thoughts. It was Friday today. She’d planned to give herself one more day, maybe two at the most, to gather facts at the ranch. Then she’d have to rush back to Chicago and write the article in time to have it sitting on Seth Strickland’s desk for Monday morning.

  But that timetable was out the window now. Her greatest interview opportunities would be in the next couple of days. Which meant there was no way to be ready Monday morning. Which meant she’d have to call Seth and confess.

  She drew a breath, squeezing the fabric-covered arms of the chair as she tried to still her racing heart. She could only hope her editor’s excitement over the article would overrule his anger that she’d lied to him.

  She glanced at her watch. Two o’clock. That made it three in Chicago. No time to lose. She pulled her cell phone out of her bag, pressing the buttons for his number. It rang three times, but then jumped to voice mail, giving her no choice but to leave a quick, vague message.

  She replaced the phone in her bag when, over the sound of the continuing rain, she heard footsteps on the front porch. She glanced through the window to see Stephanie, a dripping white Stetson pulled low on her head, waving cheerily through the pane.

  Melissa sighed inwardly. She wasn’t ready for this. Being undercover to get a story was one thing, but leading Stephanie on was another thing entirely.

  But Stephanie had seen her, and Melissa had no choice but to open the door. She crossed to the little foyer.

  “Hi,” said Stephanie, beaming as she entered the cottage.

  Melissa couldn’t help but smile in return. The young woman’s grin was infectious.

  “I told you so,” Stephanie sang, hanging her hat on one of a long row of pegs on the wooden wall.

  The entry area of the cottage was practically laid out. There were pegs for coats and hats. A small bench beneath, with room for footwear under it, and a bright, woven Navajo rug decorating the wooden floor.

  The foyer took up one corner of the small living room. The rest of the room boasted a simple burgundy couch, a leather armchair, a small television and two low tables with ivory lamps.

  There was a compact kitchen beside the living room, a table and two kitchen chairs under the front window, and a door to a bedroom/bathroom combination on the far side. Melissa had to admit, she adored the brass bed and the claw-foot tub. And the oak tree outside the bedroom window rustled in the night breeze, while the muted roar of the river outside filled in the background.

  Melissa took a step back to stay out of the way of Stephanie’s wet raincoat. Not that she wouldn’t have to change clothes, anyway. Standing in front of the open window with Jared had been…well, it had been amazing, of course. But mostly it had been foolish. And not just because she’d ended up with wet clothes.

  Stephanie kicked off her boots. “Do you know how long it’s been since Jared invited a woman home for dinner?”

  Melissa knew she needed to dial Stephanie’s excitement level way down. “He didn’t exactly—”

  “Never,” sang Stephanie. “He’s never invited a woman home for dinner.”

  “Your equestrian center is not his actual home,” cautioned Melissa. “And I was already here.”

  Stephanie waved a dismissive hand. “Technicalities.”

  “No. Facts.”

  Stephanie pouted.

  “Seriously, Stephanie. You can’t get carried away with this. Jared and I barely know each other.”

  Stephanie heaved an exaggerated sigh, dropping down onto the couch. “Are you always this much of a downer?”

  Melissa took the armchair again. “I’m always this much of a realist.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “It saves a lot of heartache in the long run.”

  “Disappointment, I can handle. It’s never leaving the starting gate that would kill me.”

  Inwardly, Melissa conceded there was some logic to the argument. “It’s only dinner,” she said to Stephanie. “And I’m still planning to leave in a couple of days.”

  “But you’re here now,” said Stephanie with a sly wink. “What are you going to wear?”

  Melissa’s cell phone jangled from her bag on the floor.

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” she said, knowing in her heart the call was from Seth. There was no way in the world she could answer it in front of Stephanie.

  It rang again.

  “Do you want to get that?”

  Melissa shook her head. “It can go to voice mail.”

  “You sure? I don’t mind.”

  Another shrill ring.

  “I’m sure. What do you think I should wear?” Truth was, Melissa hadn’t seen anyone wear anything but blue jeans and riding clothes since she’d arrived. Her own wardrobe was plain and meager, since she was pretending to be on a bus trip.

  The damn phone rang again.

  “You sure you don’t want to—”

  “Completely sure.” Melissa reached for the slim phone. A quick glance told her it was, indeed, her boss. She sent the call to voice mail. “There.”

  Stephanie paused for a moment. Then her expression grew animated once again as she sat forward. “I was thinking, since it’s Royce’s first night back, we should dress up a little.”

  Melissa’s attention went automatically to the downpour and the rivulets of mud streaking the narrow cottage road. Even if she had brought anything dressy, it was a virtual mud bog between the cottage and Stephanie’s house.

  “We’ll do it up at the house,” Stephanie went on. “We’re about the same size. You can take a shower up there. We’ll play around with your hair. Put on a little makeup, and you can borrow one of my dresses. I have a bunch I’ve never even worn.”

  “I’m not Cinderella,” Melissa admonished.

  “Oh—” Stephanie all but jumped up from the sofa “—that makes me the fairy godmother.”

  “Did you miss the word not?” Melissa struggled to keep a grip on the conversation.

  “This is going to be great.”

  Still in Melissa’s hand, the phone rang agai
n. It was Seth. She hit the voice mail button one more time. She was going to have one heck of a lot of explaining to do. Good thing she would have a kick-ass story to offer up.

  “Girl talk while we get ready.” Stephanie laughed.

  Melissa paused.

  Girl talk? Girl talk.

  Why was she trying to get out of this? Girl talk was exactly what she needed for research.

  “I’ll meet you up there,” she agreed. A quick call to Seth, and she’d be ready for all the girl talk in the world.

  “Don’t be silly.” This time Stephanie did jump up. “You’d drown. I’ll drive you over in the truck.”

  Stephanie’s house was rustic but undeniably gracious. A large, practical foyer led into a massive great room with polished floors, a high, hewn-beam ceiling, and overstuffed leather furniture decorated with colorful pillows and woven throws. There was a huge stone fireplace at one end of the rectangular room, and a row of glass doors down the side opened onto a deck that overlooked evergreens and snowy mountain peaks. A wide passageway opposite revealed a gourmet kitchen with a long, polished-wood breakfast bar and padded stools and a formal dining room that seated twelve, with a wood-and-brass chandelier and an impressive woven carpet under the cherry table and wine-colored armchairs.

  As they made their way up a wide staircase to the second floor, Melissa wished once again for Susan and her camera. Stephanie’s bedroom was at the front of the house. It had its own small balcony, a walk-in closet, an en suite bath and a small sitting area set in a bay-window alcove.

  “Dresses are way in the back,” said Stephanie, flicking on the closet light and gesturing into the long room. “Pick anything you want. I’ll hunt through the bathroom and see what I can find for makeup.”

  “What are you planning to wear?” Melissa gazed through the open door at rows of blazers and blouses, situated above open shelves that held blue jeans and jodhpurs. She stepped over several pairs of polished boots as she made her way across the carpeted floor.

  Stephanie hadn’t been exaggerating. There were at least two dozen dresses, most with the tags still on. They were black, gold, red, sleeveless, gauzy, and one gorgeous printed silk that shimmered gold and peach, with a jeweled scoop neckline that looked like something off a Paris runway.

  “Try that one,” came Stephanie’s voice from the doorway.

  Melissa shook her head. “I couldn’t.”

  “Why not? Royce brought it back from Europe last year. The straps are too narrow for me. It makes me look like I have linebacker shoulders.”

  “It does not.” Melissa laughed. Stephanie had a wonderful figure.

  “I’m okay with sleeveless, even strapless, but there’s something about those spaghetti straps that don’t work. You want to hop in the shower? I put out fresh towels and a robe.”

  “I feel bad invading your privacy,” Melissa said.

  “Are you kidding? I can’t wait to dress you up and wow my brother.”

  Melissa placed the dress back on the rack and turned. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she told Stephanie honestly. “Jared and I barely know each other.”

  “You have to start somewhere,” Stephanie replied, obviously undaunted by reality.

  “The odds against he and I clicking are about a million to one.”

  “The odds against me winning Spruce Meadows last week were about a million to one.”

  “But you practiced. You worked hard for years and years to win that competition.”

  “I’m not expecting you to marry him next weekend.”

  Melissa took a step closer to Stephanie. “I’m not going to marry him at all. You have to understand that. He’s a nice man. And maybe he thinks I’m pretty—”

  “He’s going to think you’re a knockout in that silk dress.”

  Melissa sighed. “You’re killing me here, Stephanie. I need to know you know this isn’t going anywhere.”

  Some of the optimism went out of Stephanie’s blue eyes. “But you’re going to try, right?”

  “It doesn’t matter whether I try or not, the odds are still stacked way against it.” And those odds were a whole lot higher than Melissa could admit.

  “I’m not afraid of the odds,” said Stephanie, a new equilibrium coming into her eyes. “I’m just leading a horse to water. He drinks or not will be up to him.”

  “I take it Jared’s the horse?”

  “And you’re the water.”

  Relief poured through Melissa. Stephanie understood just fine. She wasn’t some flighty young girl with impossible dreams. She was simply trying to match up her brother and bring some balance to the family’s gender numbers.

  The plan didn’t have a hope in hell of working with Melissa, but she could respect the effort.

  “Robe’s on the door hook,” said Stephanie. She nodded to the en suite. “Towels are stacked on the counter.”

  “Okay,” Melissa agreed. She could play dress-up and ply Jared with questions. Maybe they’d have wine with dinner. Even better. She’d sip slowly and let his tongue loosen up.

  She followed Stephanie’s directions, enjoying the marble tub and the luxurious bath products. The towels were big and plush, and Stephanie’s hair dryer gave Melissa’s straight, blond hair some body and bounce.

  She exited the room to find Stephanie sitting in front of her vanity in a white robe, her auburn hair damp around her ears.

  Stephanie swiveled on the small stool. “What do you think?”

  Melissa blinked at the unexpected sight. Stephanie’s delicate features had been all but obliterated by glaringly bright makeup. With spiked lashes, bright blue shadow, dark blush and a fire engine–red lipstick shade, she looked ready for the lead in a 1980s disco flick.

  “Uh…I…” Melissa struggled to find words.

  Stephanie’s face fell. “It’s that bad?” She glanced back to the mirror.

  Melissa rushed forward, reflexively putting her hands on Stephanie’s shoulders. “The look’s a little dated. That’s all.”

  Stephanie hardened her jaw, glaring at her features. “Is it me? Do I just not have a feminine face?”

  Melissa’s jaw dropped open. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I can never quite seem to pull it off.” She gestured vaguely toward the closet. “It’s not that I don’t have the ingredients. I’ve got plenty of clothes, shoes, beauty products. But I can never figure out what to do with them. I bought a makeover magazine once. I ended up looking like a clown.”

  “You’re beautiful.” Melissa recovered her voice. “Beyond beautiful. You’re stunning.”

  “I have a little-girl nose, ugly freckles and funny-color eyes.” She leaned forward, screwing up her face in the mirror.

  “Most women would kill for your nose,” said Melissa honestly. “The freckles are pretty, and you just need a new shade of shadow.” She turned the stool, looking critically at Stephanie’s skin tone and features. “Go wash your face. Let’s start over.”

  Stephanie perked up. “You’ll help?”

  “You bet I’ll help.”

  Stephanie jumped up and headed for the bathroom, turning on the taps in the sink. “Did you have a mom and sisters and stuff?” she called.

  “A mom, yes,” said Melissa. “But I have five older brothers.”

  Stephanie popped her head back into the room. “Five?”

  Melissa nodded. “Adam, Ben, Caleb, Dan and Eddy.”

  “So probably no makeup tips from them.”

  “Nah. But I can frame up a cabin, change a car’s oil and whistle.”

  Stephanie laughed as she rubbed cleanser over her face. “And I can rope a calf in under thirty seconds.”

  “You never know when these skills might come in handy.”

  Stephanie rinsed and dried, walking back into the bedroom, clad in her terry robe. “Where did you learn about makeup?”

  “Girlfriends at school, cable TV, demos at the mall.” Melissa glanced around the room and realized the wide sill on the bay window was
a good height.

  “My friends were in the 4H club. And we didn’t get many channels out here while I was growing up.”

  “Can you hop up there?” Melissa gestured. “That way I won’t have to bend over.”

  “Sure.” Stephanie held her robe as she got settled, her bare feet dangling.

  Melissa selected some lotion and a few cosmetics and piled them on a small table in the alcove. “It’s all about subtlety now,” she explained, tipping Stephanie’s chin toward the light. “Women want to look natural, just a little more beautiful than nature intended. Earth tones will bring out the subtle silver in your eyes, instead of clashing with it.”

  “Can you cover up my freckles?”

  Personally Melissa liked the freckles. “I’ll tone them down a bit. They’ll be less noticeable. You have amazing skin.”

  “Fresh air and healthy living.”

  “It works. I’m in an office all day, air-conditioning and recycled smog.”

  Stephanie’s forehead wrinkled. “You have a job?”

  “I used to have a job.” Melissa cursed inwardly at her stupidity, struggling to recover from the gaff. “I delivered office mail for a while. Very boring.”

  “You seem so smart.”

  “I’m not that smart.”

  “Jared said you knew about Sierra Benito.”

  “That was a stroke of luck.” Melissa found a thin brush and some powdered, charcoal eyeliner. “I happened to read an article in the newspaper.”

  “But you remembered it.”

  “I suppose. Close your eyes.”

  “You must have a good memory.”

  “Decent.” Memory was a critical attribute for a journalist—names, dates, faces, events. Melissa gently stroked on the liner, chose silver, blue and pale purple for shadow, added a subtle blush and finished off with a neutral lip gloss.

  Then she found a comb and piled Stephanie’s thick, wavy hair in a loose twist at the top of her head, freeing a few locks to frame her face and trail at the back of her neck.

  Melissa stood back. “Go take a look.”

  Obviously self-conscious and nervous, Stephanie hopped down from the ledge. She gingerly crossed the floor to the mirror, squinted, opened her eyes, then stared in silence.