But.
She was a hellion in front of his other employees and stubborn about applying his editorial direction. It wouldn't do. He couldn't afford insubordination right now, any more than he could afford to buy off her contract. Everything depended on the magazine running smoothly and efficiently, responsive to his direction. He couldn’t allow another tantrum like the one she’d thrown in the conference room.
As if in answer to his unspoken ultimatum, Stanna knocked hesitatingly on his door while pushing it further open. Her demeanor seemed more subdued than before, he noticed. She looked at the floor as she walked quietly towards his desk. Stopping still a good five feet from him, she slowly glanced up at his face. He saw the tension etched in hers. Her pretty gray-blue eyes no longer spit fire. She twitched but stood her ground when he pushed himself away from his desk and strode past her to shut his office door behind her.
Brushing close enough by her to touch the sleeve of her simple white T-shirt, he took control of the meeting by speaking quietly toward her shell-pink ear, "I believe an apology is in order." He continued, then turned to lean again against the edge of his crowded desk. He folded his arms. "Your dissatisfaction about your new role at this magazine shouldn't have been expressed publicly. Nor in such a manner."
Stanna started to respond.
"I'm not finished!" Jake slashed the air with his palm. His voice vibrated with suppressed anger and determination. "You undermined my authority in front of my new employees at our first meeting. You insulted me personally, and you effectively brought an end to a meeting that should have lasted until everyone had a chance to respond with their own questions."
He could see her lips twist slightly. Distaste for what she was hearing? Too bad. But perhaps she was about to cry. Damn it, he hated it when women cried. He hoped she wouldn’t cry.
He softened his voice. "Stanna, I can't have you disrupting the magazine like that. Whether you agree with my methods or not, I have to ask you to cooperate."
"Cooperate with my own destruction?"
Nope, she wasn't near tears, Jake realized with relief. He began to speak but Stanna held her hand palm out and fingers spread in a stopping gesture.
She visibly restrained her ire. "Okay, I shouldn't have let my temper get the better of me. Sorry. All right? But when I saw what you did to me, I flipped out." She searched his eyes. "You don't understand," she said, watching his expression. In a despairing undertone, she added, "I just wish you could understand."
Jake thought he'd never seen a more angelic entreaty. Her mesmerizing blue-gray eyes were clear and expressive. Her brows arched delicately like angel's wings. Her white shirt and simple haircut only added to the effect of innocence. It was a compelling picture, and he felt himself responding to it naturally with a surge of protectiveness.
He tried to crush the impulse. She might morph into Stanna Spitfire any moment, so her angelic act didn't fool him one bit, he told himself.
"I have to think of my magazine," he explained, his voice sounding too gentle to his own ears. As a result, his next sentence dripped with menace: "You have a job to do. Go do it."
"What if I don't choose to do it that exact way?"
Jake suppressed a chuckle at her wheedling retort. What was it about her that messed with his moods until he wanted to slam his fist through a wall one moment, and felt tickled with humor the next? He shook his head, baffled.
Stanna raised her chin stubbornly. "You really don't understand. If it weren't for you, I'd be next in line for this office, this desk..." Her glance took in the office, then the mountainous pile on the desk. She frowned at it. "Ian told me, often, that I was a shoo-in for editor. Then you came along and fired him. And not just that," her voice got faster, heated with the ire she obviously tried to control, "you also insult me, demote me, and channel my creative voice into your women-bashing new column."
Jake felt a twinge of guilt for enjoying the way her chest was heaving. He compensated by modulating his tone for easy listening. "Stanna." Then what she said sunk in. "You were thinking that you'd be editor?" In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have sounded so surprised.
And he really shouldn’t have laughed.
Stanna's expression registered the additional insult, and sure enough, she morphed before his very eyes. She became almost a she-wolf, teeth bared in a grimace and her whirlwind of sudden movement toward him triggering his own defensive measures: Before even a second had ticked by, they were frozen in a tableau of her firm body halted in mid-strike by his imprisoning grasp of her wrist. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed the morning sunbeam through his large office window illuminating a rectangle of swirling dust over her left shoulder. The front of his mind, along with the rest of him, was occupied with the woman whose chest pressed against his.
For a second she remained completely still, as if stunned into immobility. Then he felt the twisting of her wrist as she tried to extricate. He knew she could feel the crushing grip he exerted communicating she wouldn't get away until he got some answers.
Answers to questions like, how did those angry, pale pink lips taste? The shape of them -- delicately bowed, just wide enough and expressive as hell -- tempted him to an extreme he shouldn’t be contemplating.
When he didn’t let her go, she subsided. To his amazement, she even apologized. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. That was… incredibly inappropriate. I actually tried to hit you.” She laughed, and he heard the defeat in it. “You should be able to fire me for that.”
Such lovely lips. “I can take reparation another way. If you’re willing.”
“If you mean… do you mean? What exactly do you mean? I think maybe I am willing.” She stared up at him, breathing fast. Her lips curved into a bemused smile.
With her body trembling against his, he didn't hesitate. Jerking her body tighter against him and inclining his head, he caught a strange expression in her eyes just as he devoured her lips. His free hand rose to grasp a thick handful of the silky hair at the back of her head, sealing the kiss.
His mouth was eating her alive, Stanna thought desperately. And what was worse, she was enjoying it! His lips and teeth teased, but his tongue plundered her mouth in direct ratio to the shock waves that vibrated to the pit of her stomach. The intense pleasure he inflicted turned her legs to spaghetti noodles, and she appreciated his strong grip holding her up. Escape was a distraction she immediately forgot.
Plastered against his chest, she reveled in its broad, hard expanse. He must have sensed she wasn't planning on going anywhere just yet because he released her wrist to gain embrace-leverage and shock her anew with the amazing sensation of the full length of his superb body fitted to all of hers.
But he didn't give her mouth any rest. Hot, smooth, and intoxicating, his tongue suddenly thrust in a rhythm that her whole body resonated to. In and in and in... she'd never been kissed like this before. Her few boyfriends were as puppy beagles next to this completely dominating, extremely competent man who held her. Impossible to forget this thoroughly alpha male with his muscled body plastering her to him. Responding shamelessly, she arched against him, moaning deep in her throat.
She nearly purred in satisfaction when she heard him groan, a low rumble, perhaps in response to her sound. One of his hands pressed the back of her shirt and the flesh beneath, the other clutched thick handfuls of her hair, as if he couldn't get her close enough. Her response whipped through her, another shockwave of pleasure. What was happening? Her fuzzed mind tried to make sense of it, but his mouth kept driving all thought away. She leaned into him further, hungry for more.
Their hips bumped the desk, and a small glossy brown block tumbled from its precarious perch atop the cardboard boxes. It struck a small cleared patch of shining mahogany desktop with a thud that effectively drew both their attention. With arms still intertwined, they both stared at the wooden rectangle and the name engraved on the brass front:
Jake Tremere
Editor
Horrified, she pulled from his grasp even as one nagging, smug little voice inside her head rebutted with a sigh and an admiring two thumbs up.
She focused on a random spot of the brown carpet in front of Jake's boots and gathered her thoughts. Jesus, what a fool she'd been making of herself! Probably most women threw themselves at him, but she of all people should’ve shown more restraint. Roughly one hundred percent more.
She smoothed her T-shirt and shook her head. Stepping a safe distance from him, her nerves vibrated with reaction to her own impetuous violence and also his sensuous onslaught.
What had come over her?
CHAPTER THREE
Jake watched her step away. She looked disturbed.
He shared the sentiment. Kissing certainly hadn’t been on his agenda.
It had been pure liquid heaven. Her wholehearted response to him inflamed him like he’d never felt before. That was mindless abandon. He'd wanted her when she was writhing against him more than his next breath, and he’d felt the way her slender, hot little body and eager lips responded to him, too.
Hell, she was still breathing hard, he thought with masculine satisfaction. Nothing in his past even came close to the surprising electricity that had flowed between them. Not even Jolene.
He looked keenly at Stanna and his mind cleared further. What was he doing, being proud of himself for getting her hot? For kissing her, at work? He was smarter than that.
Issues of sexual harassment liability aside, he might very well be repeating a mistake he’d made with Jolene. He didn't want to think of it, but memories of his darling ex put it into his head: it was possible that Stanna might be a faker, a user trying to manipulate him with her feminine wiles.
He exhaled heavily. It had happened to him before. Guys had a blind spot about pretty women. He just couldn't afford to be the naive, lost-in-infatuation boy he’d once been. He certainly couldn’t afford a hostile workplace lawsuit. Though she had invited his touch. She’d asked for it specifically, damn it. And she’d actually said he should be able to fire her for her attack on him, and she was bloody well right. They were even in terms of office offenses.
He touched his nameplate, caressing it with his thumb as he worked the possibilities over. No one had more reason to try and manipulate him than she. He supposed her next move might be to try to threaten him with exposure of what he’d just done. Or trade favors. If she thought he played that way, she had a rude surprise coming.
So her sincere words at first surprised him, then triggered his reluctant respect. Soft but emphatic, Stanna's voice underscored her sincerity: "Jake. I'm very sorry for that. I was totally out of line to try and hit you and what we just did was a mistake too." Her ragged breath betrayed the edge on her emotions, but he couldn't tell which edge. Maybe this time she was going to cry. He found himself rooting for her to finish so he could apologize, too. He suddenly wanted to.
She continued in the same controlled tone. "But I want you to know I still think you're wrong in your chauvinistic angle regarding my column and my re-assignment as receptionist."
His urge to apologize vanished. She was still hung up on that? Now? His suspicion that she might be trying to manipulate him flitted through his mind, but he was beginning to believe it wasn't the case. He was beginning to believe this small-boned, thoroughly female girl in front of him was disturbingly single-minded.
She was stubborn. He tested his theory.
"Stanna, you can't write about--"
"Yes, I can."
Jake stifled a chuckle. He thought she'd respond that way. In fact, he thought she might say it no matter the challenge: "Stanna, you can't travel to the moon in an automobile." He was pretty sure her competitive spirit would kick in before her common sense and he'd hear "Yes, I can" before she even heard the whole sentence.
It was weird, being with a woman who acted as competitive as a man. But whether she liked to admit it or not, she was still a woman. He took one deliberate step toward her, and smiled inwardly when she only bristled but didn't back away.
"If you're planning on kissing me again, I'll ask you to remember I'm your employee and not your girlfriend."
Jake smiled wistfully. "A man could wish things were different."
"Yes, you've made your desire to fire me well-known to me and everyone else who works here."
With his reminder he was a businessman and not a date, no matter how thrilling his kisses, Stanna's common sense came back to her in a rush. It told her to get out of his office before something really bad happened.
Turning her back on him made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Leaving his office felt like retreating, even though she was coming right back. She could sense him watching her.
She wasn't sure if he’d ignore her signals to stop with the amorous activities. Worse, she wasn't sure she that she wanted him to. Moving as fast as she could, she strode to her cube, yanked her column from her notebook, and whirled. She swallowed as she returned to his office.
He was still by his desk, only he wore a mocking smile as if he knew the thoughts whirling through her mind.
Face heated, she stiffly closed the distance and held out the binder-clamped papers stiff-armed. He took it from her slowly, with just a raised eyebrow in question.
"Here’s my column. Do what you see fit.”
Without looking down at the column, Jake looked at her steadily. "I always try to." A half-smile played about his wide, intriguing lips. She noticed his whiskers. He had the beginnings of what would be a dark shadow on his jaw, and she knew the firm sandpaper feeling of it rubbing against her tender flesh. It was odd knowing something so intimate about someone who was nearly a stranger.
Tearing her eyes from him and feeling as if she'd lost some undeclared battle, Stanna mumbled, "Great." She kept her pace to a slow, dignified walk as she exited his office, when all she wanted to do was leap for the door and run all the way home.
She shut his door behind her with exaggerated softness. When her pulse slowed, she started down the hallway to her desk.
"Hey beautiful." Michael appeared round a cube-corner and pinned her with his patented gossip-hungry stare. The vivid white polka dots on his black shirt arrested her attention. "What have you been keeping from us, Peaches?" Folding his arms and blocking her path, he cocked his head and raised his brows in a theatrical gesture that Telly would have appreciated.
Stanna was tiredly amused. "More than you could imagine, Cupcake." She tried to move around him, but he waggled his finger while he shook his head. "You can do better than that. After that tantalizing display of temper you gave us all this morning I deserve the dirt, and how. C’mon. Spill, woman!"
She gave Michael what she hoped was a Mona Lisa smile and made to slip past him.
Rounding the same cube-corner, Corrinna nearly collided with them both. She added her two cents: "Stanna! What's going on!" Corrinna, a petite Asian lady who looked much younger than her thirty-four years, worked in the editorial department as a copy editor.
Stanna sighed. She wouldn't be allowed to just forget it. Everyone she worked with, at least the ones she interacted with directly, would have to be told the background or else think she was truly a monster.
She tried the ultra-abbreviated version: "Okay. Basically, he tried to fire me like he did Ian, found out he couldn't due to a contract I have, and now is making my life sort of hellish." She shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She hoped.
Corrinna nodded understandingly, but a quizzical expression remained on her face. Michael expressed it: "That's not good for you. Not a bit of it. However... he seems like he might... I stress might... be a few steps above a moronic, repulsive slime. But the thing is, he's the head honcho now. You just don't screw too vigorously with the top dogs. Unless you’re into getting your hiney gnawed off." He glanced at her hiney and shrugged. “A bit off the top might not be a bad idea in your case.” He danced
back out of potential fist-range. Corinna just hook her head, use to it all.
At Stanna's exasperated sigh, Michael headed off any retort by adding, "Peace, wench! Anyway, let's go to lunch. I suppose," he looked at her slyly, "you don't want to invite our handsome, fearless leader to accompany? No?" His heavy sigh of poignant regret pried a smile from Stanna and a chuckle from Corrinna.
Stanna found herself grateful for the little show of support and friendship as their small group piled into her clean but dented and wood-paneled pea-green station wagon. She managed to mostly forget that Jake would have read her column by now, and reacted to it one way or another. Did he mark it up with his red pencil? Or did he wad it up and throw it away?
Stanna blew into the first-floor department feeling worlds better for the late lunch and comradeship of her co-workers. She'd told them everything. Everything except her and Jake's kissing mistake. That little tidbit would go to her grave, she thought, her face heating just with the memory. She hoped desperately that Jake was a discreet man. Something about the natural control he usually displayed told her he was.
She stopped at the opening to her cube, her eyes locked on her In-Box. She couldn't believe it. The black tray, hanging conspicuously over a corner of her wrap-around cube-desk, could barely contain all the paper and folders and envelopes and binder-clamped bills to pay.
Evidently Jake was a man of his word. She wouldn't see daylight from this storm of paper. Her lunchtime high abruptly left her, and she collapsed into her chair with a scowl. She wondered if the phone would start ringing wildly with everyone's outside calls for her to answer, too. That was part of the new Stanna-responsibilities, right? Phone jockeying, and maybe also moving her to that narrow desk by the front door so she could greet newcomers with a receptionist's plastic smile.
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