by EC Sheedy
"You think I overreacted." Arrogance and defensiveness seasoned the statement, and his gaze met hers directly. "That I shouldn't have called you."
"No," she muttered, having trouble finding her voice. "You were worried. That's why I'm here."
"Hmm." Rand continued to stroke Licks gently with his long sure fingers. Licks stretched, sighed, and tucked his front paws under his chest, reveling in every caress.
But then who wouldn't?
A shiver rippled along Tessa's flannel-covered spine—and she sure wasn't cold. She'd made the mistake of looking at Rand again. That boyish defensiveness in his face, shadowed by a man's rough early morning beard, near stopped her heart. So while he concentrated on Licks, she concentrated on him.
His unbuttoned cotton shirt parted in the night breeze, revealing powerful chest muscles. His pale coloring might indicate too much time spent indoors, but the man worked out.
A lucky Licks rested his paws on a thatch of silky chest hair. Tessa followed its dark trail until it disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. Jeans with the top button undone as if he'd slipped into them in a hurry. Naked.
Whoa, girl!
Tessa quickly closed her eyes and frowned. What was wrong with her? She'd never taken stock of a man like this. Never felt all skittery and out-of-control looking at one.
Rand gave her a puzzled stare. Did he see what she was thinking? Where she was looking? She glanced away. Too late. He gave her a knowing look and a half smile, but it slid from his face so fast, she thought she'd imagined it. Just as well, because if he ever smiled at her full-force, she'd need an ER team to resuscitate her. She shivered.
"You' re cold?" he asked, shooting up a disbelieving brow, scanning her winter sleepwear as if he'd never seen a flannel nightgown before.
She'd have sniffed with indignation if she knew how, but her neck heated instead. "A little," she lied.
"Let's go in," he added. Surprisingly, he reached for her hand.
Not surprisingly, she took it. Big, firm, and enfolding, and the exact temperature of the heat choking her throat like a tight woolen scarf. Cold? Not a chance. He led her toward the door, and she followed on shaky legs.
Daft. That's what she was.
That's what Annie, a devout worshiper at the shrine of common sense, would say. Annie had picked up the word somewhere and now used it to describe any human activity she didn't agree with. Getting all mushy over some guy definitely fell into the unacceptable category. The Darwin women were never supposed to be daft. No, sir. They were strong, independent—impervious to the love virus, or so her sister maintained.
Tessa had always gone along with the idea—until that devilish night wind laid Rand Fielding's chest bare, and she discovered a powerful attraction for the male pectorals.
Of course, what she was feeling wasn't close to love. More like a major lust attack.
They stepped into the dark kitchen and without a word, Rand led her to a set of stairs she hadn't known were there. Hazy but well-placed night lights lit their path up the stairs. Rand didn't let go of her hand until he reached the door to his room, and he was forced to make a choice, drop her hand or the sleeping pup.
Their physical connection broken, Tessa took a step back. "I'd better—"
"Hush—" Rand dipped his chin toward Licks. "You'll wake him."
Tessa knew that even the screech of train brakes wouldn't do that, but she shut up anyway.
"Wait here." He disappeared into his room while she craned her neck around the doorjamb to keep her eyes on them. What she was waiting for, she didn't know. Nor did she much care.
Rand placed the pup into his bed with care, stroked him softly, then latched the crate door. He came back into the hall and closed the door carefully behind him. He gestured toward her room. "Shall we?"
He was walking her home... a walk consisting of about fifty feet of carpeted hall. She'd have laughed, if her laugh muscles weren't as rubbery and useless as the rest of her.
When they reached her rooms, she didn't open the door, and he didn't turn to go.
"I'm sorry—" he began.
"Thanks—" she said, stopped, embarrassed to have talked over him.
"I shouldn't have—" he tried again.
"It's okay, I—" she blurted, timing off once more.
Silence.
Tessa, hands clasped behind her, slumped against the door. Rand studied her as if she were a wrapped package given him by a stranger. Wordlessly, he moved closer, and the scent of him, the heat of him, the maleness of him immobilized her. Not that she wanted to go anywhere.
What she wanted was for him to kiss her.
Although she was pretty sure she'd die from it.
She lifted her chin and met his dark gaze. For once she hoped her emotions were obvious. No way did she want him to not get her message. Kiss me...
"Do you know what you're asking for?" He tilted his head.
Yes! She wanted to yell, one of those rooftop yells that would wake the neighborhood, but she restrained herself and gave what she hoped was a subtle nod of her head. Subtlety didn't come naturally to her.
He rested his palm on the door, his forearm so close it grazed her ear.
More silence. She lifted her eyes to meet his, saw indecision, a raw kind of pain. Say something, she begged inwardly. Or better yet, do something. Kiss me...
He leaned his mouth close to hers, his lips so near hers she tasted his breath.
She tried to speak. Couldn't. She wanted to close her eyes, to trust she knew what was coming. His troubled gaze didn't let her.
He touched her hair, buried his fingers in it, lifting it and smoothing it behind her ears.
"This is a bad idea," he murmured, brushing his lips over hers. "A really bad idea." Again his mouth touched hers, so softly, so deftly, every cell in her body shivered to attention. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she was certain he'd hear it.
With his mouth against hers, she closed her eyes, let go, and gave herself to the growing need his lips coaxed to life. He deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entry, slowly, expertly. She opened to him, heard herself moan when the tip of his tongue flashed against the corner of her mouth.
Her senses responded all at once, aroused by Rand's drugging kiss. His tongue probed, his teeth nibbled, his lips teased—then demanded.
Still they were inches apart, one of Rand's hands against the door above her head, the other gripping her waist. Tessa's hands were clasped behind her as if handcuffed to the doorknob. They weren't close enough. Not nearly. She needed the heat of him, hard against her. But Rand kept a slight but definite distance between them.
She brought her hands to his chest. Palms flat, she rubbed his nipples, teased them with her nails. His breathing ragged, he lifted his head.
Abruptly, he stepped away, leaving her to slump back against the door. He glared at her briefly, then paced a few steps and turned back.
He looked like a dog on a chain, his bone out of reach.
Tessa struggled to get her bearings, not easy when every muscle in her body had turned to mush. If Rand didn't like kissing her, so be it. But somehow that didn't seem to be the problem. Unless, of course, her brain had melted, and she wasn't thinking straight. A definite possibility.
His gaze slid back to hers. "I apologize," he said, his tone cool, his enunciation precise. "That shouldn't have happened."
She puzzled over this. "Why?"
"Why?" he repeated, seeming surprised by her question.
"Yes, why? I'm over twenty-one—"
"Barely." He snorted, ran his hand through his hair, and started to pace the hall again. "But that's not it."
"Then what is?"
He stopped pacing and came back to study her. "You're not mine to kiss and even if you were—" He shook his head.
Tessa knit her brows, tried to make sense of that. "I don't get it." Light dawned. "Oh... maybe I do. I'm your employee—in a way—and you don't mess around with your staff. Right?"
&
nbsp; He looked relieved. "Close enough."
Of course! Employers had to be careful about such things, especially ones as rich and powerful as Rand. There were lines not meant to be crossed, but in less than a second she decided this wasn't one of them.
She stepped closer to him, placed her hands on his chest and made slow circular motions. She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his eyes. "But what if the staff wants to mess around with you?"
He took her hands in his, hesitated, then forced them back down to her sides. "She'd be wasting her time and mine." His expression hardened. "Go to bed, Tessa. Forget this ever happened."
With that he strode away.
Tessa's stomach lurched, but she didn't blush. Rand's icy rejection hadn't left enough heat for that. Half stunned and one hundred percent confused, she watched his broad back disappear into his room. When all trace of him left the hall—when the last of his scent faded—she went into her room. She walked to her bed but hadn't the energy to lift the covers and get in. Instead, she sat on its edge and hugged herself, pressing her arms against her thundering heart.
She couldn't figure it out. She and Rand had kissed, and about the time they were both... softening, he'd turned to granite.
Why?
She should be humiliated by his rejection, but instead, she was intrigued. Dangerously so. And she should be hurt, but she couldn't find any hurt either.
She felt only an overload of frustrated longing—and avid curiosity. Frightening, because her curiosity always got her into trouble.
She burrowed under the satin sheet—chilly things—and yanked it to her chin with a shudder.
If she were smart, she'd take his advice: forget about what happened between them and concentrate on her job. She had good reasons to do exactly that: Annie's college fund, her own career, and Licks. She absolutely had more important things to do than ferret out Rand's reasons for not wanting to kiss her.
The satin sheets started to warm up along with her determination.
She could do this.
She would do this.
Men only made women daft, anyway, or so said the gospel according to St. Annie the Practical. Tessa smiled into her slippery pillow. No doubt Annie was right, but for a moment there, being daft had felt awfully good.
Her eyes opened, and she stared hard at the night-shrouded ceiling. After all, her dad had always told her to go after what she wanted and "don't spare the horses."
Okay. Now she had two choices, listen to Rand's stern advice and forget they'd ever kissed, or take her father's words to heart and go after what she wanted. She chewed on her lip, unsure her current goal fell into a category Dad would find acceptable, but absolutely certain another of Rand's kisses would make everything clear.
She closed her eyes again and snuggled into the luxurious bed. What should she do? The warming satin was like a caress against her cheek, lulling her into sleep.
Tomorrow... think about it tomorrow.
Good idea. She closed her eyes. Important decisions were always best made in daylight.
Still, she couldn't stop her fingers from resting against her freshly kissed lips, or leaving them there until she drifted into a dream...
* * *
Rand stalked his bedroom, driven half-wild by distrust, frustrated desire, and guilt. What in hell had he been thinking? Tessa was Ned's. At least according to Ned. Too bad the man had neglected to inform Tessa. Or had he?
Rand stopped his pacing and stared out the French doors leading to the balcony of his bedroom. Maybe the woman was angling for bigger game, which in female parlance translated to the bigger fortune.
The idea made him sick.
Nothing in her file—the one Ned sent to him when he'd hired her—had indicated she was anything other than a hard-working young woman looking to earn a living by training dogs.
She'd worked at the same job since leaving high school, helped her widowed mother and sister out financially and took college courses at night, wanted to be a veterinarian. Hardly the resume of a femme fatale.
And there weren't exactly a lot of men in her past, only one semi-serious relationship, ended two years before.
He opened his balcony doors, stepped out, and looked at the sky, moonless now and dark with morning rain. He wanted to believe Tessa was what she seemed, open, honest and sincere, and that surprised him.
Rand placed both hands on his balcony rail, dropped his head, and for the millionth time wished he could forget Andrea, forget what a fool he'd been.
But he couldn't. No. Scratch that. He damn well wouldn't. A woman in his bed? Sure. But close enough to what he laughingly called his heart to wreak further havoc? Out of the question.
His father had always said he should be more like his brother Griff, and Griff had always laughed and agreed with him.
A cynical smile curled Rand's lips as the familiar pain sliced his heart, the way it always did when he thought about his twin.
Griff was as determined to please the mean, avaricious old bastard as Rand was to defy him. They may have disagreed on how best to deal with their father—and Rand's medical degree hadn't impressed Boyd anywhere near as much as Griff's MBA. But somehow they'd managed their differences, stayed tight with each other.
Until Andrea.
Rand shook his head, rubbed at the thought lines etched into his brow. Griff should be running Red Earth. By right and inclination it was his—not Rand's. Boyd was no doubt spinning in his grave knowing Rand was in charge of his company.
There was some satisfaction in that.
Tired now, Rand stepped back from the rail. He didn't want to think about the past, about Griff. Losing him had nearly killed Rand. He didn't need a soft, too willing woman to finish the job.
Even if her lips were the warmest touch he'd known in years.
Again he heard Griff's tired voice, hours after Andrea's hasty departure. "You should have taken the old man's advice, bro. 'Bed 'em but don't wed 'em.' Would've saved us a lot of trouble."
He might do that, if Tessa were available for bedding. But she wasn't. She was Ned's, and even if she weren't, something about her—and the hot promise in her kiss—said danger ahead.
Once burned, a man didn't stoke a fire he couldn't control. Tessa might be what she seemed—or not.
He strode back to his bedroom. All he wanted from Tessa was for her to leave him the hell alone. Mentally repeating that comforting falsehood, he shucked his jeans and climbed into his cold bed.
Chapter 6
The next morning, even though Tessa was up earlier than usual, Rand was gone by the time she made it to the kitchen.
"He's an early hawk, that one," Milton explained, making her a perfectly poached egg and insisting she eat it. "Beat his own record this morning. Left at five-fifteen, I believe."
"Why do you call him a hawk?" she asked, biting into a piece of buttery toast and glancing at her canine charge. Licks slept on a chair by the fireplace, content for the moment.
"Apt, I believe. Wouldn't you agree?"
Tessa thought about Rand's dark hair, his black winglike eyebrows. "Well, yes. He does look kind of like a hawk."
"And the resemblance isn't merely physical," Milton mumbled.
"What does he do exactly?" she asked, cutting into her poached egg.
"What his father did before him—only more so." He started loading the dishwasher. "He makes money."
Tessa digested this along with her egg and sipped some perfectly brewed coffee. Holding the mug to her lips, she closed her eyes. She could get used to this: satin sheets, a cozy kitchen, steaming coffee handed to you in a porcelain mug the minute your sneakers hit the kitchen.
At home, she'd be devouring a cold toaster pastry with one hand and opening her car door with the other. She hated being late, but did sleep in from time to time. But this morning hadn't been one of them, even though she'd had her first bad night's sleep since...
Come to think of it, last night was the first time in her life she hadn't slep
t like a played-out pup, and she knew why. Rand's kiss. She'd spent most of the night pondering the magical event with nothing to show for it but twisted sheets and a growing fascination.
She refocused her attention on Milt. "But how does Rand make money?" she asked. "Does he have, like, factories or banks? What does his company do exactly?"
"Deals."
Tessa wrinkled her brow. "Deals?"
Milt poured coffee for himself and joined her where she sat at the edge of the large kitchen island. "Quite simple. He buys a company for a low price, then sells it for a higher one."
"It doesn't sound simple. It sounds complicated and risky."
"Ah, but you see that's how fortunes are made, my dear, by taking risks. The more risk, the greater the reward."
"I get it. He's an investor, one of those financial angel types—" that's what her dad had always called them "—who buys into a business, gives the owners enough support and money to grow it, then sells his shares back when the company is able to get by on its own." She figured she had it nailed. "I think that's a super thing to do. Small business people need people like Rand."
Milton rubbed his chin. "I'm not sure the word angel applies, but investor? Yes." He paused. "In his way."
"How about that?" She shook her head, musing on life's bad sense of timing. "Too little, too late."
"Excuse me?"
"I was thinking of my dad."
"Your dad?"
"He was always looking for a financial angel," she said, the usual ache of loss surfacing when she remembered him. "He invented things. Nothing big, just little things in his spare time. He had one of his kitchen gadgets patented."
"And what would that be?"
"A suction device that drew the yolk out of an egg without breaking the shell or disturbing the white." As a kennel person rather than a kitchen one, Tessa never understood why anyone would want to do this, but her dad had been really excited about it.