by EC Sheedy
After a slight hesitation, the receptionist picked up the phone and whispered something into it Tessa couldn't hear.
In seconds the leader of the palace guard, clad in an eye-searing red suit and wearing mile-high heels, strode into the reception area. "I'm Charlotte, Mr. Fielding's executive assistant," she said. "I'm sorry but he's busy right now. Can we set up an appointment for later this week?"
"I don't think so." Tessa stood and placed Licks on the carpet—the white section. When Licks began his usual sniffing expedition, she added, "I'd rather wait."
The woman's gaze dropped from Tessa to Licks. "You say this is Mr. Fielding's, uh, animal?"
"Yes, ma'am. His very own new best friend."
A quick frown, followed by an executive decision. "Follow me, please."
* * *
"Uh-huh. Yes. Next Friday." Rand swiveled his chair to face the spectacular view of Mount Rainier.
With the sun hitting its peak, its snow-covered slopes glowed pink in the late afternoon air. He took no notice. He switched the telephone from one ear to the other, irritated by the pressure of the receiver. Still he resisted Charlotte's suggestion of a headset, hating the idea of looping a wire over his head and having his ear on constant call. No. He'd stick to the phone.
He rubbed his forehead, tried to concentrate, and wondered why, lately, guys like this—a banker trying to do business with Red Earth—were so hard to take.
When he heard a soft rap and his office door click open, he swung his chair around, glad of the diversion. He was surprised to see Charlotte mouthing an "I'm sorry," a sober but determined-looking Tessa Darwin, and Licks, all standing inside his double doors.
His brows knit in puzzlement and he nodded an okay to Charlotte. She left, closing the door behind her. The banker in his ear droned on.
What the hell was Tessa doing here? Hadn't Milton paid her?
He scanned her from baseball hat to sneakers; noting long, dark shiny hair, most of it sticking out the hole in the back of her cap, fresh skin, and a straight set-to-stubborn jaw. He liked that. Temper in her eyes, hot with an edge of tough. He shifted in his chair, uneasy under her unfaltering gaze.
He liked that, too.
She had on jeans, well-worn, that showed off her healthy, very curvy, body. She'd look even better in a satin nightgown, or better yet, nothing at all. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, she glared at him, as if she knew the direction of his thoughts to the next stop sign. She looked ticked off. Not the usual response when he looked at a woman.
Their gazes locked, as they sized each other up.
His hearing suddenly shut down. The banker's words sounded faint and far away. Rand's breathing coarsened, and his mouth went powder dry. He reached for the pitcher of water on his desk, waving her and the pup toward a sofa several feet from his desk.
He hadn't experienced a sexual response that powerful in years—and it didn't seem to be mutual.
Tessa sat on the front of his black sofa as if it were a launching pad and she a fighter jet. But she didn't look as though she wanted to fly; more like she wanted to fire a few missiles.
He studied her mouth, a wonderful, full mouth which, he remembered, was lopsided when she smiled. Right now she was absent-mindedly biting her lower lip, which caused a beguiling dimple to appear and disappear from her cheek. Beguiling was the right word to describe her, he thought. As well as beautiful, spirited, and determined.
Poor Ned really was in for it.
And judging from the tightness behind his zipper, so was Rand.
"Uh-huh, next week," he said into the phone, keeping his eyes on Tessa. "Call Charlotte. She'll arrange it." He hung up but didn't get up. He steepled his fingers and looked over them, leveling his gaze to hers.
"I don't often see people without appointments," he said.
She didn't flinch, merely stood, walked over to his desk and put The Gift smack in the middle of it. The pup, looking ten inches higher and ten pounds heavier than Rand remembered, swaggered over two sets of financials to say his hellos. Rand shoved them aside but couldn't deter the animal from landing in his lap and striving to lick off the beginning of his day's-end shadow.
"I don't often get handed a dog—" she fished into her pocket, pulled out a crumpled paper, and slapped it on his desk "—and a check without so much as a would-you-mind."
Rand picked up the check. "This is for his keep. If you need more—" He didn't finish.
She glared at him. "Money is not the point."
"Then what is?"
"The point is Licks—"
"Licks?"
She looked puzzled, then disappointed. "You're kidding. You don't remember his name? The name you gave him?"
"Right. Licks." He scratched behind the pup's ear and was rewarded with a satisfied moan. He was kind of cute.
"The point is," she repeated at a read-my-lips pace, "Licks is your dog, not mine. The idea is that he bond with you, not me. Something he can't do if he's with me and you're—" she looked around, exasperated "—here!"
"I work here."
This time the look she gave clearly indicated he was too stupid to live. "That has nothing to do with the problem at hand."
"Which is?"
"You and I need to spend some time together."
"We do?" Rand studied the soft flush working its way up Tessa's long neck. He spotted another tiny mole, this one just under her chin. She rubbed at her throat as if to rub away the heat.
"I mean for Licks' sake," she added firmly.
Before he could answer, his phone rang. He picked it up. "Tell him I've left for the day."
Rand stood, clasped Licks to his chest and looked at the pretty dog trainer from across his desk. She might be angry, but she was also right. Neither he nor Ned had been fair.
And it was amazing she hadn't cashed the check. Damned amazing.
"Come on," he said. "We'll sort this out over dinner."
"I don't want—"
"Didn't you say we should spend some time together?"
"Yes, but—"
"No buts. Besides, Licks must be hungry. Will he be all right while we eat? Do you have food for him?"
"Yes, his crate and food are in my car. But—"
He held up a hand. "We'll talk over dinner." He came around to the front of his desk, handed her the dog, and headed toward the closet to the left of his private bathroom. When he came back, shrugging into his jacket, she looked up at him, her expression serious. "I'm sorry I interrupted your day, but I got mad."
"Forget it." Rand took her arm. "Let's go."
* * *
The restaurant was near Pike's Market. The seafood was fresh, perfectly seasoned, and mouthwatering. The dinner conversation was scarce, stilted, and shallow. Tessa didn't want to be here, but she needed a few answers, for Licks' sake. She'd leave when she had them, not before. No matter how tense she was.
Tessa glanced at her dinner companion, who brought a whole new meaning to the word grim. He ordered with authority, ate as if unaware of her presence or determined to ignore it, and looked as though he needed two weeks of straight sleep.
She remembered her reaction to him when she'd stepped into his office earlier, their eyes meeting, holding, like in one of those old romantic movies Mom loved so much.
First she'd had this horrid hot feeling in her chest as if her lungs were on fire, then she'd lost her peripheral vision, leaving him in crystal clear focus, surrounded by mist. He'd looked like some kind of bright, wicked angel. She'd still be standing there, if not for that strip-her-naked scan he'd given her with those icy green eyes of his.
Of course, when they'd been looking at her they hadn't been icy exactly... more like flame throwers.
"So." He rested his napkin beside his plate and lifted his wineglass. "What do you want to do about the dog?"
She was mad again. Instantly. Poor Licks, his new master didn't give a rip about him. She prayed for patience. "Mr. Fielding—"
"Call me Rand, for G
od's sake!" he snapped.
"Sorry, I was being polite. I was taught to—" She stopped, sensed he wouldn't appreciate a sentence ending with the word elders.
He narrowed his gaze. "I'm thirty-eight. How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
He studied her, rubbed his jaw, and looked annoyed for some reason. "Ned's only a year younger than I am."
Puzzled, she managed a nonchalant, "Oh?" She didn't much care how old Ned was, but she was fascinated with Rand's age. Which, of course, made no sense at all. He was the least fascinating man she'd ever met. And he didn't like dogs.
"How long have you two been seeing each other anyway? And don't you think he's a bit long in the tooth?"
Tessa opened her mouth, but uncertain how to reply, nothing came out, at least for a heartbeat or two. "I'm not 'seeing' Ned in the way I think you mean. I trained his dogs. We're friends." She paused. "And as to how long his teeth are, as far as I remember they're quite normal."
This time Rand opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he laughed. A deep, rumbling laugh, with a hint of self-consciousness. But the effect was magical. The tight lines around his mouth disappeared, replaced by a matched set of sexy creases that formed deep arcs on each side of his mouth. The laugh carried upward to his eyes, lighting them briefly. He shook his head.
"Did I say something funny?" she asked, confused by his laughter but captivated by the leftover grin softening his mouth.
"No. I guess I used an expression that didn't make it across the age gap." He sipped some wine, looked at her over the rim of the glass before setting it back on the table. "Tell me about yourself, Darwin."
Damn. She was feeling all warm and funny again. She forced her shoulders back. "I'd rather talk about Licks. What your plans are for him."
He considered this. "Finding out about you is about Licks. You're his trainer, after all. How do I know you don't take in strays and make soup out of them?"
"I'd never—"
He raised a brow.
"You're kidding."
"And you're naive." He cocked his head, gave her a speculative look. "Or seem to be."
"I didn't think anyone actually said that word, only wrote it," she said. "And it isn't a word that describes me." Although sitting across from a man who had everything, had done everything, and had been everywhere doing it, she figured he was right about her, at least compared to him.
"What words do describe you?" he asked.
She looked away, then back, uncomfortable with talking about herself but also wanting to impress him in some small way. And because she wanted his agreement and trust on her new plan for Licks, she had to say something. "I'm, uh, responsible. Reliable. Hard-working and—" She faltered.
"Ambitious? Focused?"
"I think so. Yes." She looked at him, feeling cornered and ill at ease. "Is there something wrong with that?"
"Depends what you're focused on." He took a couple of beats, intensified his gaze. "Or who."
Somewhere in this conversation, they'd taken different tracks. And, if there was some kind of subtext here, she wasn't getting it. "Look, Mr. Fielding—"
"Rand," he reminded her firmly.
She nodded and placed her napkin on the table. "Look, Rand, I don't know what your problem is with me—" she shrugged "—and to be honest, I don't much care. But I do care about Licks. And you don't seem to. A dog deserves love and attention." She fidgeted with, then folded her napkin. "When you first asked me what I wanted to do about him, I didn't know what to say, because it was the same question I was going to ask you. So maybe the best thing—" she hesitated "—is for me to find Licks another home."
Tessa hoped he wouldn't take her suggestion as an insult, which, given her special feeling for dogs and the people who loved them, it most definitely was.
He looked at her a long time and scratched his jaw with his index finger. "I've never owned a dog."
His comment didn't go far toward solving the Licks dilemma, but it did help her understand his attitude. "Ned should never have given you Licks," she said. "It wasn't fair to you or him." Boy, would she give Ned a piece of her mind when he came back. She reached over and patted Rand's hand. "It's okay, though. I'll find him an excellent home. I promise."
He turned his hand and grasped hers, held it until she pulled it back, disturbed by the warmth of the brief contact. When their eyes met, his grew speculative.
"No," he said, with an unmistakable finality.
"Of course, if you want to find him a home yourself..."
"I want to keep him."
Tessa frowned. "No, you don't. You walked out on him on his very first day with you, and you haven't seen him since. That won't work."
"We'll make it work."
"We?"
"You'll live at my place and train my dog."
"You're crazy. People don't do that!"
"Yes, they do, Tessa," he said quietly.
She didn't answer. She felt too dumb. Of course, people like Rand Fielding hired whomever they pleased for whatever they pleased. Why not a personal dog trainer? That old saying came to mind again: the very rich are different from you and me. Just how different was stunning. But going to live in that grand house of his? No way.
"Think about it," he went on, his voice cool and convincing. "It makes perfect sense. Right now I don't have time for a pup, but in a few months, when he's old enough—and trained well enough—no problem. I'll take him with me."
"To work? You'll take Licks to work?" She laughed at the absurdity of it.
He gave her an arrogant glare. "I'll take him anywhere I damn well choose."
"Sure you will," she said unbelievingly. "What about travel? I know from talking to Ned you do a lot of it. Licks will live half his life crated in the cargo hold of a commercial jet. Bad idea, Rand."
"Thank you."
"For what? Telling you you're crazy?"
"Using my name."
"Oh." A warm blush suffused her face.
"He'll fly with me," Rand stated, going back to the travel debate.
"They don't let hundred pound Rhodesian Ridgebacks ride first class, at least not as far as I know." She drank some water. The man was nuts.
He looked at her as if her sip of water had poisoned her brain. "I don't fly on commercial aircraft. I have my own plane."
"Oh." The money gap again, but this 'oh' business was getting old. She needed something more deliberate, more intelligent, like 'I see.' Yes, much better. "Whether you take him with you or not, doesn't change things. You don't... love him."
"I'll learn."
"You don't 'learn' to love."
"Wrong." He pulled out a credit card and tossed it on the bill. The waiter whisked it away. "There isn't anything you can't learn, if you invest time and effort enough."
Tessa wasn't sure if such logic applied to puppy love. Before she could think up a good argument, the waiter returned with the card. Rand signed it and stood. "Ready to go." He offered her his hand and she couldn't see how to avoid taking it. Then, grasping it firmly, she wondered why she'd been reluctant in the first place.
"I'm ready to go—" she stood beside him, looking up, and up, into his eyes, "—but I'm not moving in with you."
He smiled, a cool smile accompanied by a rise of those spectacular brows of his. He practically radiated practiced charm—and determination. "We'll talk on the way to our cars."
"Talk all you want. I have a life, which you don't seem to appreciate. And I have a job."
"Managing a kennel, I understand."
"Yes."
"Would they mind if you take Licks to work?"
"No, but—"
He touched her mouth with his thumb, stopping her words where they sat. "Like I said, we'll talk on the way to the cars."
Chapter 4
Rand looked out the upstairs study window—again—in time to see Tessa turn into his driveway. She drove as if she were maneuvering a tractor on spring ice. Reluctant? Definitely.
The
possibility that she'd put her old Chevy into reverse and take off made him uneasy. At his front door, she killed the engine and sat a long time in her car. When she did get out, she freed Licks from his crate in the backseat, clutched him to her breast, and stood gazing up at the house, her expression unreadable.
His unease abated, replaced by... what? Expectations? No.
Accomplishment, he told himself. She was here. He'd won. He always felt good when he won.
In the end it came down to money. He'd made his offer, saw her turn it over in her mind as if she were a child offered a shiny silver coin. He'd been generous but cautious. Some kind of sixth sense had told him if he offered too much, she'd turn him down. Her conscience? Perhaps. Or maybe she was sly enough not to show her mercenary side too early in the game.
There's two types of women in this world, boys, the needy and the greedy. Either one will drive you crazy.
Rand stepped back from the window, shaking his head. The world according to good old Dad, a voice silenced ten years ago in a mountain climbing accident that had taken both his life and Griff's, Rand's twin brother. Ten years, and yet the advice still echoed in Rand's brain.
His father, Boyd Fielding, had hated women and made sure his sons knew why.
And then there was Griff.
Whenever Rand thought of him, a cloud, black and heavy, settled over his mind. They'd come into this world together—a package deal, bonded by birth, love included. Damn, but he missed his brother. He rubbed at his forehead and walked back to his desk.
Griff. The brother he adored, cast in the image of the father he detested. Rand itched to pace, but instead forced himself to sit and pull out a file.
He'd given up on finding any logic in that particular equation. Easier to blame his father for using Griff's loyalty to turn him into the man Boyd had wanted him to be: ambitious, materialistic, and completely dedicated to improving the Fielding fortunes. The man he'd wanted both his sons to be, until Rand brought home a wife. Andrea had changed everything.
"Rand?" It was Milt. "Are you busy?" he asked, stepping through the doorway.
Roused from his dark, unproductive thoughts, Rand answered, "I'm always busy. What is it?" He knew damn well Milt had come to tell him about Tessa's arrival.