Rock Hard

by Nalini Singh

  She should've known Gabriel wouldn't let the subject drop.

  "So you're not dating?"

  He didn't have to rub it in. "No," she admitted, then said something she wouldn't even have thought about saying before a certain T-Rex entered her life. "Unlike you, I don't change partners on a daily basis."

  "I don't change partners," Gabriel said, leaning back in his chair and eating a scoop of ice cream. "I've never had one of those."

  "Probably because that would require more than an endless series of one-night flings." Charlotte froze as the words left her mouth--that had been a singularly discourteous thing to say to her boss.

  "Don't stop now, Ms. Baird," he drawled, scooping up another spoonful of ice cream and holding it out to her lips.

  She pursed those lips. He smiled, knowing she'd have to part them to speak. "I--"

  He slipped the spoon into her mouth, the creamy dessert cold, the spoon warm from his own lips.

  The intimacy of it made her stomach flutter. "That's very improper behavior."

  "No argument," he said, eating a spoonful. "Does it make you uncomfortable?" A serious question.

  Charlotte wanted to say yes, and back when she'd first begun working for him, it would have unnerved her. But he hadn't talked like this with her then--no, he'd been T-Rex. Now, though she tried to think of him as T-Rex, she saw Gabriel instead. "I can handle it," she murmured, and when he smiled, added, "Don't take that as support for further inappropriateness."

  His smile was slow, creasing his cheeks and bringing the silver into his eyes. "I'm afraid it's too late."

  Charlotte looked down at her ice cream, her confidence running out all at once, as if a tap had been opened and leached it all out onto the floor. She didn't play games with men, didn't know how to; she wasn't even sure if Gabriel was playing with her or if he was just passing the time.

  A quiet buzz of sound that had become intimately familiar over the months she'd worked for him.

  Pulling out his cell phone, he glanced at the screen and said, "Other side's calling early."

  As she listened, he completed a complex international deal over the phone, pulling things from memory she'd have thought would be impossible if she hadn't seen him do the same thing multiple times. The man's mind was a steel trap--and he expected the same from her.

  Since her laptop was formed of a large tablet and keyboard clipped together, she'd already removed the tablet section and pulled up the file with the buyout terms he was discussing. He glanced at it when she turned it to him, nodded, and made a finger movement that, from the context of the conversation, she translated to mean he needed to glance at another particular section. She found it, turned the tablet his way again.

  He scanned the text, but she could tell he didn't need the confirmation. The deal was done two minutes later, and Gabriel hung up with a smile. "Well, that went better than expected."

  Charlotte laughed. "You got everything you wanted."

  Eyes lingering on her face, he grinned. "Yes, I wasn't expecting total capitulation." He slid away his phone. "It seems I've kept you late for no reason."

  "It's all right. You couldn't have known they'd roll over." Tonight's overtime had been a real request. "I'll call a car."

  Gabriel shook his head. "I'll drop you home."

  It was the first time he'd made the offer. Every other time, he'd escorted her to the executive cab, then called to make sure she was safely home. Swallowing, she said, "No. You live in the city." Only a few minutes away. "It'll be an extra drive for you."

  "I could do with a drive after revving up for a negotiation that turned into a cakewalk." Rising, he took her ice cream container and threw it into the trash along with his. "Come on, Ms. Baird. I promised early on that I wouldn't bite." A slow smile. "Unless you make the request, of course."

  11

  Lions, Gazelles, and Bespectacled Mice

  Cheeks burning, Charlotte got up and walked out ahead of Gabriel, able to feel him behind her every inch of the way. It was probably what a gazelle felt like when she had a lion on her tail. A big, good-looking lion who'd almost convinced the gazelle he was harmless... right before the glint in his eye reminded her he had very sharp teeth.

  "Your coat in the closet?" the lion asked.

  Charlotte nodded, realizing she was mixing far too many metaphors where Gabriel was concerned. Nerves did that to her. Next thing you know, she'd be imagining a bespectacled mouse quivering in mingled terror and anticipation as it sat at a dinner table with a lion who looked ravenous. And suddenly the mouse was a woman who looked an awful lot like her, and the lion was a shirtless man with water running down the chiseled planes of his chest.

  Thank God they'd reached the closet.

  Built into the wall, it didn't break the clean lines of the outer office, and she made sure not to leave her things lying around. It was something she'd learned from her predecessor. All her other faults aside, Anya had known how to look like the perfect PA.

  Big hands reached past her for her coat, Gabriel's warm, masculine scent seeping into her pores to make her already racing heart stutter, her breath catch, and her thighs clench. Her body didn't seem to have received the memo that she wasn't interested in sex with a T-Rex. Probably because she kept fantasizing about all kinds of things that could lead to nakedness with said T-Rex.

  "Here." He shook her coat open and held it out.

  No man had ever held out her coat. What was she supposed to do with her arms? Moving slowly, she raised one arm then the other... and he slipped it on as effortlessly as if he did this every day for her, his fingers brushing her shoulders before he reached into the closet for his own coat. She'd hunted it up earlier that day, along with his suit jacket. Whichever suit he wore, the jacket never stayed on during the day, but he needed it unwrinkled for meetings.

  Leaving the jacket in there, he shrugged into his coat as she picked up her purse. She wasn't surprised when he walked into his office and returned with a black briefcase--Charlotte wasn't sure the man ever stopped working. Except, of course, when he took home the women who received red roses the next day.

  Hand tightening on the strap of her handbag, she nodded when he said, "Ready?"

  The elevator felt tiny with him in it, his sheer presence taking it over. She wasn't sure she'd survive the drive to her house--she'd been in the car with him before, but tonight, with the night enclosing them in a dark cocoon, everything felt different, felt strangely intimate.

  Red-rose women, she reminded herself before she could get too stupid. Unless you plan to grow a foot and magically sprout bigger breasts, there's zero risk of him actually having any interest in you.

  The thought made her eyes narrow as they stepped out into the cavernous underground garage and Gabriel led her to the gleaming black all-wheel drive parked in the CEO's spot. A crouching beast of an SUV that meant Charlotte always had to use the step at the side to get into the passenger seat, it wasn't the usual CEO-type car, but he probably wasn't comfortable in a smaller car. This one suited him.

  It probably suited his leggy dates as well.

  Stop it, Charlotte, she ordered herself.

  "Ms. Baird." A penetrating glance as he unlocked the car with a remote and opened the passenger-side door. "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing." She gasped as he gripped her by the waist and hitched her into her seat.

  "You sure?" he asked, hands still on her and expression incisive.

  She nodded, sucking in a rushed breath when he finally released her and shut the door. Then he was in the driver's seat, handling the large vehicle with ease as they left the garage. Using the controls on the steering wheel, he turned on the radio, jazz pouring out of the speakers at a soft volume. "You okay with jazz?"

  "I haven't listened to it much," she admitted, "but I like this sound." Smoky and sensual and slightly cynical.

  "There's a small club up north that has the occasional jazz musician play a live set," he told her, turning left to go up a hilly
street. "I'll take you sometime."

  Guessing he was simply making conversation, she said, "I've never really seen live music. Molly says it's amazing."

  Gabriel shifted gears, the car smooth as a cloud on the city streets. "Do you plan to visit her?"

  "If my boss ever permits me a vacation."

  That boss grinned. "I just can't live without you, Ms. Baird."

  Not wanting to think too hard about the way her stomach fluttered at those playful words, she said, "How about you? Do you have a best friend?"

  "My brothers and I are all close, and I have a few mates who might as well be blood. We met playing rugby in high school."

  "Do you miss it?" she asked softly. "Playing professional rugby?" Charlotte would've never brought up the subject if she'd thought it would make him sad, but he still seemed to find pleasure in the game.

  Two weeks ago, he'd called her into the office to show her a replay of his brother Daniel's maiden test try, his pride in the twenty-one-year-old apparent. Then there was his coaching, and the fact he sometimes mentioned staying up late or waking predawn to catch the live feed of an international match.

  "No," he said now. "Not saying it didn't hurt like a bitch when I realized I'd never play again for my country. I was twenty-five and my body refused to heal right. It didn't matter what I did, I couldn't control it."

  That would've been intensely frustrating for a man like Gabriel, used to being the master of his own destiny. "How did you end up in business?"

  "My parents always drummed it into my skull that playing sports was a career with a limited lifespan. Unless I wanted to go into professional coaching or sports commentary afterward, I sure as hell better have a backup plan."

  "Wow, this is some backup plan." Gabriel owned the boardroom.

  A grin. "No one took me seriously at first. Despite the fact I had an MBA, they figured I was playing at business." His grin widened. "Then I bought up an ailing company, turned it around, and started sweeping contracts out from under my competitors' feet."

  Fascinated by this glimpse into his history, Charlotte nudged at him to tell her more about that first company, and the deep, masculine sound of his voice wrapped around her.

  Gabriel could feel Charlotte getting more and more tense the closer they got to her home. When he'd offered to drive her, he'd had no ulterior motive. Once in the car though, he'd been considering if he could coax the delectable Ms. Baird into a kiss.

  Now he knew that wasn't about to happen. She'd been fine all day, but something about having him near her home was ratcheting up her fear. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as his mind gave him all sorts of dark reasons why having a male in her home might terrify Charlotte.

  "Which way's the best option?" he asked as he neared a fork in the road, fighting to keep his tone easy even as anger rose in a hot wave under his skin.

  "Left," she said, hands locked tightly together in her lap. "It's a little quicker."

  Shifting gears, he took the car left. "Are you still catching the bus in the mornings?" He would've organized a car for her except that he was sure she'd balk when she realized it was coming from him rather than the company budget.

  The restraint didn't sit well with Gabriel; he liked to look after the people who belonged to him. And regardless of their personal relationship, Ms. Baird belonged to him.

  "Yes." A short pause before she added, "It's pretty efficient except when it rains. Everyone seems to slow down to a crawl then." She played with the strap of her purse, the burst of conversation followed by silence until they hit her street. "There." She pointed out the long drive that serviced multiple town houses.

  "Which number?" He was pleased to note the drive was well lit, security lights coming on automatically as his car passed the other town houses.

  "The one right at the back."

  He brought the car to a halt a couple of seconds later.

  "W...would you mind waiting?" A flush of red on her cheekbones as she made the request.

  "Of course I'll wait." Gabriel would've done so for any woman, but the fact Charlotte had fought her embarrassment to ask gave him another disturbing insight into the emotional scars that marked her.

  Getting out, he came around to her door. She'd already opened it, but he placed his hands on her waist and put her on the ground. He was half expecting her to protest the handling; he'd done it precisely so she'd snap at him, the spark back in her eyes, but she just headed for her door, keys in hand and stride a little jerky. Deactivating the alarm using the keypad on the wall just inside the door once she'd opened it, she turned in the doorway.

  Suppressed panic on her face, as if she didn't know what to do now.

  It wasn't the cute panic of a woman unsure about the protocol but happy to have him there. He saw real fear in her eyes.

  Shoving down his simmering anger at this further evidence of what had been done to her, he smiled and said, "Have a good night. I'll pick you up at seven thirty tomorrow."

  A startled blink. "What?"

  "Remember I mentioned Rotorua? I got a call about that while you were away from the office." When she'd bought him ice cream. The reminder eased his tension--Charlotte might have scars, but she liked him, even if she wouldn't admit it. Her fear wasn't directed specifically at him. "End result is that we decided to move the meeting up. You and I are heading down to Rotorua tomorrow to speak to a local Maori arts collective whose work I want to feature as part of our arts partnership deal."

  That partnership, involving high-end hotels around the country as well as a select number of premier resort lodges, would not only give the featured artists a serious boost, it'd put the Saxon & Archer brand firmly back at the top of a very exclusive table. It was why Gabriel was being so hands-on when it came to choosing the artists. He'd already confirmed a gifted metal sculptor who worked at the miniature level. A painter specializing in breathtaking New Zealand landscapes was also on his list.

  It was all part of his long-term plan to remind people that Saxon & Archer meant the unique and the beautiful, elegance teamed with faultless perfection. It was far from the rough and tumble of his previous position in the sustainable logging industry, when he'd worn boots and hard hats as often as he'd worn suits. However, business was business, and Gabriel understood business.

  There wasn't a doubt in his mind that at the end of his one-year-contract, he'd leave behind a thriving company. The board was already making hopeful noises about having him stay on, but Gabriel had no intention of doing so--he liked playing knight for ailing corporations. The role of a captain holding the ship steady didn't suit him as well, though he'd make damn sure of his successor's skill set before he moved on.

  When he did, whether it was to another business that needed his skills or to focus on his significant and growing property portfolio, he'd be taking his PA with him. Let the next CEO find his or her own Ms. Baird. Not that they would--Charlotte was one of a kind.

  "A seven thirty start will get us there around ten thirty," he said to her now. "Meeting's at eleven. We'll have lunch afterward, be back in Auckland by five."

  "You don't want me to hold the fort at the office?"

  Staying against the car instead of closing the distance to her, he shook his head. "It's a relatively clear day tomorrow businesswise." It had taken three months and a small number of additional staff changes, but his management team was at the stage that he could trust them to do what needed to be done, even if he wasn't physically there for them to consult.

  Unlike that idiot, Hill, Gabriel didn't waste his time micromanaging competent people. "You can get calls forwarded to your cell," he added. "So, seven thirty?"

  Charlotte couldn't find any reason to say no... except for her nervousness at the roughly three-hour drive with Gabriel. "Okay," she managed to get out, her nails digging into her palms as she hit her limit of cowardice.

  No more, said a frustrated, angry part of her. No more. Her frustration was all the more intense because of how well the
day had gone--she'd more than held her own with Gabriel. And now this.

  "Good night, Ms. Baird."

  "Good night, Mr. Bishop." Closing the door, she threw the deadbolt and double-locked everything, then ran quickly to the living room to watch Gabriel leave, the lights of his vehicle scything across windows set with bars. It was an unusual modification in her neighborhood, but she'd made sure it was tastefully done--the bars looked more like a decorative element than the rigid iron they actually were.

  The sound of Gabriel's car was gone a couple of seconds later, purring into the darkness.

  Taking a shuddering breath, she turned on the lights in the living room, the kitchen, the hallway, the spare room, and her bedroom one by one, including in the master bathroom. Then, as she did every night, she walked through each room to make sure nothing had been moved or disturbed in her absence and that the door from the garage remained deadlocked from the inside.

  Only when she was certain everything was exactly as she'd left it, all the little booby traps she'd set unsprung, did she walk into her bedroom and change into her sleeveless white eyelet nightgown. Skimming her body to the ankle, the Victorian-inspired nightgown was embellished with a thin ribbon in the same delicate peach shade as that which separated the bodice from the rest of the gown. Overall, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the wall beside her wardrobe, it was sweetly romantic but not exactly sexy.

  No, she was definitely not one of the red-rose women.

  Brushing out her hair on that scowling thought, she walked into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She'd always been a night owl, and given that it was only ten forty-five, she decided she'd read for an hour. Snuggling into bed with a Scottish historical, her teacup on the nightstand, she flipped to her bookmark but couldn't focus. Her mind kept drifting in a single direction.

  Gabriel was probably home by now. If she knew him, he'd put the briefcase on a table, take off his coat, and throw it over the back of a chair. He'd no doubt kick off his shoes and socks, walk into the bedroom as he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal that glorious wall of a chest, those wide shoulders, the ink on his body only highlighting the beauty of him.