[4 Seasons 01] Seducing Summer

by Serenity Woods

  He cleared his throat before looking back at her. This time, his amusement had faded. “I apologize. I assure you, I’m usually very respectful and good at my job. I’m organized and efficient, quiet and hardworking, and I promise I’ll make your life easier.”

  Callie highly doubted that. The man had trouble written all over him. It could have been the steely glint in his eye, or the way he was standing, still and watchful, like a coiled spring… She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was definitely something dangerous about him.

  How the hell was she supposed to work with Mr. License-to-Kill at her side all the time providing the ultimate distraction?

  “Ma’am?” He looked concerned. “Can we start over again?”

  She picked up a pen and notepad, walked over to the armchairs on one side of the room, and indicated for him to take one. She sat opposite him, taking care to keep her knees together so he didn’t get an eyeful. “Let’s start by you calling me Callie,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

  Her lips twitched. And then suddenly it struck her. The metaphor of a childhood friend who’d been away to war hadn’t been so far from the truth. “You’re ex-military,” she observed.

  He leaned back in the chair, resting an ankle on the opposite knee, and nodded slowly, either amused or surprised she’d guessed. “Yes. What gave it away?”

  “The way you stood with your hands behind your back. The deferential manner. And the MAG 58 machine gun I’m sure you’ve got rammed up your backside.”

  To his credit, he gave a short laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re into guns.”

  “Dad was in the Army.” She chewed her lip while she surveyed him properly for the first time.

  He bore her perusal calmly, and to his credit his gaze stayed firmly on her face. She let hers slide down him, though, knowing she was being rude but too interested not to pay further attention. He’d fashioned his tie in a complicated Windsor knot, if she wasn’t mistaken. His shoes bore a shine, also reflecting his military background. As he’d sat, he’d unbuttoned his jacket, and it hung open now to reveal a dark gray matching waistcoat over his white shirt. She could count the number of men who wore a three-piece suit to work on the fingers of one hand. Suave, a little old-fashioned, and incredibly sexy at the same time. What a combination.

  His Army training was no doubt what she’d picked up on when she’d thought he looked dangerous. “How many ways can you kill a man?” she asked, admitting that it gave her a tingle to think he was a trained soldier.

  “How many do I need?”

  She grinned. He had a great poker face, and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking, but as she continued to study him, the corner of his mouth curved up.

  “Do I meet with your approval?” he asked.

  “You’re a puzzle,” she admitted, trying not to think about how low and sultry his voice was.

  “A puzzle?” he queried.

  “Yes. A soldier with a ninety words per minute typing speed?”

  “When I left school, I trained as a journalist and photographer.”

  “Ah.” That made more sense. “What did you do then?”

  “I was hired by a national TV news program as a trainee war correspondent. I shadowed an older guy and went with him to Egypt, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Spent a lot of time around Army guys and loved it so much I signed up.”

  “So what happened? Why did you leave? I’m guessing because you were wounded—in the leg, yes?” She’d detected a slight limp when he’d walked in.

  His eyes met hers for a moment. Hesitant, wary, guarded. He’d meant to keep that a secret, but now she’d asked him, he didn’t have a choice unless he intended to lie outright. He didn’t like that she was so observant, and had guessed things he’d wanted to keep to himself.

  He shifted in the seat. On the surface, it looked as if he was making himself more comfortable, but she sensed unease in his posture. He didn’t like talking about it. She waited for him to change the subject, but instead he said, “I was out on a scouting mission. We stumbled across a hidden base and they opened fire on us. I took a bullet in the thigh, crawled off into a hole somewhere, and passed out. They didn’t find me for three days, and by then it was infected. They operated, and it healed, but it’s not good enough for active duty.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want an Army desk job. Didn’t seem much point in staying in.”

  “Is it still painful?”

  “Sometimes.”

  In the other office, she could hear Neve answering the phone, the whirr of the photocopier, the clang of a spoon in a cup as someone—probably Bridget—made a coffee. Outside the office, she heard the sound of traffic in the busy streets, and somewhere in the far distance the whine of a police car. Inside, though, the comforting tick of the clock on the wall filled the room.

  Gene sat patiently, his gaze fixed on hers, calm, a tad challenging. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but she couldn’t work out what it was.

  Callie uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them. His gaze stayed on her face, which she found interesting—no sexy slide down her body, no suggestive looks or comments. Either he didn’t fancy her, or he was determined not to bring sex into the office, for whatever reason. Of course, he could be married, or at least have a partner, in which case kudos to him for not straying.

  Suddenly, it became quintessentially important that she discover if he was single.

  She shook her head a little, hoping it would dislodge the issue from her brain. His professionalism ranked him high on her list. However, working with him would be a nightmare, surely, whether he was married or not. Wasn’t it weird that a once-soldier wanted to be a PA? Or was she being sexist? The thought made her uncomfortable, as she was a great advocate of women being able to do any job they chose. And if she believed in equality, it had to work both ways.

  She frowned. “So instead of taking an Army desk job, you decided to go into secretarial work? What’s the difference?”

  He shrugged again. “Freedom. I’d had enough of being told how to live my life.”

  “Why not go back into journalism?”

  “I’ve seen enough of the world, and I’m not getting any younger. I just want to settle down.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be thirty-two on Valentine’s Day.” His eyes dared her to find that funny.

  She bit her lip. “Married?”

  “No.”

  “Living with anyone?” Oops. That wasn’t relevant to the job, but it had slipped out.

  “No.”

  “Children?”

  “No.”

  “Girlfriend?” She was taunting him now, wondering how far she could push him.

  His gaze remained steady. “No.”

  “You don’t like talking about yourself,” she observed, curious about this guy, whose impassive expression held a multitude of secrets, she was sure.

  “I’ve just told you more about my injury than I’ve told anyone in a long time.” He looked slightly puzzled at that.

  Callie studied him, intrigued. He fascinated her. But that didn’t mean him being her PA would work. She had to think of her customers, the majority of whom were women. Okay, most of them would probably think it fun to chat to a male PA, but she had to bear in mind that it might make some of them feel awkward. And what about him?

  “You know what business I run here, right?”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I ask because working with lingerie all day can make some men twitchy. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

  “No, ma’am.” He remained straight-faced. It didn’t surprise her. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine this man getting flustered over lacy underwear. He looked like the kind of guy who could open a bra catch with one flick of his fingers.

  His cool gaze egged her on. “You think you can remain professional when dealing with customers enquiring about extra-large cup sizes? Or when they ask you to describe the different styles of pant
ies we supply?”

  He brushed at a speck of dust on his trousers. “Yes, ma’am.” He met her gaze, and then finally gave in to a smile, showing her why he had all those laughter lines at the edges of his eyes, and baring a row of neat white teeth. “And I’m happy to work late to catch up on any knowledge I may be missing.”

  Ah, so there was a man beneath the soldier, then. Wickedly, she raised her eyebrows as if to say, Oh, really? He dropped his gaze back to his hands, pursing his lips as if cursing himself for his comment. He’d tried so hard to be professional, and he’d only caved when she’d provoked him. She couldn’t blame him for that.

  She gave a short, silent laugh. If he could do the job—and it appeared he had the necessary skills to do so, more than any of the other applicants, anyway—then there wasn’t a relevant reason why she shouldn’t hire him.

  He looked back up after he’d composed himself. “Please give me a chance,” he said. “I swear I’ll be professional. We’ll work together really well. I’ll look after you.”

  She blinked. What a strange thing to say. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable. “I don’t need looking after.”

  “I meant in the office. A good PA makes sure he knows what his boss wants before she does,” he added. The twinkle in his eye told her he’d been aware of the double meaning behind it, and again he hadn’t been able to help himself.

  It would be fun teasing him. But she still wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

  “It’s a busy job,” she said. “Lots of travelling.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “But you said you wanted to settle down.”

  “Staying in swish hotels with air conditioning and minibars is not the same as camping with a dozen guys in the desert, believe me.”

  She was not going to think about him showering with a dozen other sweaty guys. “I’m going on a tour of the country over the next few weeks,” she said. “I need my PA to come with me.”

  “That’s no problem.”

  “It’s a long way. Lots of flying and car journeys.”

  “I like flying. And driving. I’m happy to double as your chauffeur. It’ll be fun,” he said. “Trust me.”

  She met his gaze. His eyes were gray, like a sky heavy with rain, late on a summer’s evening.

  “Trust me,” he said again, gently. A strange phrase, but one that reached inside her and warmed her all the way through.

  She pushed herself to her feet. “You can have a one-day trial. Work with Neve, let her show you the ropes. If she gives you the green light, I’ll trust her judgment.” He had to be able to do the job. And she knew Neve wouldn’t let him through just because she was trying to fix her up.

  He stood—a little awkwardly, she noticed. That leg did still give him trouble. “That’s great. Thank you for the chance, ma’am, you won’t regret it.”

  She walked out, her lips curving at the feel of his eyes burning into her butt like lasers.

  Chapter Two

  Gene let Callie walk a few paces ahead of him before following her out. It gave him time to admire the way her high heels lent her hips an enticing swing as she walked across the room.

  He hadn’t expected her to be such a cracker. Phoebe Hawke—who went by her maiden name—had painted a picture of her daughter as plump and mulish, and had somehow managed to suggest she was a little stupid. At the time, he’d thought it didn’t marry with the fact that Callie was also apparently the very successful CEO of a thriving company she’d built from scratch, and it certainly didn’t fit now he’d met her.

  When he’d stood in the doorway and his gaze had fallen on the girl standing by the window, his first thought had been, Oh no. Surely this wasn’t the woman he was expected to lie to for the next three months.

  Although not model-thin like her mother, she wasn’t fat by any means. Rounded, maybe. Curvaceous, with a full bust and a tiny waist that flared out to generous hips—a true hourglass figure like an old-fashioned Hollywood starlet—Gina Lollobrigida, maybe, or Sophia Loren. She wore a sleeveless cream blouse and a fawn-colored pencil skirt, and sexy high heels with painted toenails peeking out of the cutaway toes. Shiny strawberry-blonde hair bounced around her shoulders. She had an English-rose complexion with dark pink lips pursed in thought. She was much younger and far sexier than he’d been led to believe. Her expression had looked a little sad, though, and instead of announcing his arrival, he’d found himself taking the opportunity to study her while wondering what she was thinking about.

  She certainly wasn’t stupid, either. He’d read an article that a prestigious New Zealand fashion magazine had done on her company. Callie had left Victoria University with a top-class Management degree and had started up the business with her three friends at the age of twenty-two. The magazine had said she worked sixty-hour weeks, although after speaking to her he suspected that was a low estimate. It had also reported her as having “a perceptive mind astute enough to challenge Sherlock Holmes,” and that seemed to be the case from the way she’d spotted his military background and his wounded hip, which he tried hard to hide.

  He was going to have to be on his guard all the time if he intended to see this through to the end.

  “We’re going to give him a trial,” Callie announced to Neve. She walked over to a spare chair and rolled it across the floor to the desk. Looking at him expectantly, she gestured to it. “Sit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She gave an odd little shiver. “Please don’t call me ma’am.”

  “We used surnames in the Army. I’m happy to call you Summer, if you like.” The name fit her perfectly. Everything about her was like a piece of summer captured and brought inside.

  She gave him a wry look. “Callie will be fine.”

  He took the seat next to Neve, who smiled and indicated the drawers to the right of her desk.

  “Okay, so these are the main forms you’ll need when a new customer calls.” She opened the drawer. “Yellow for the South Island, blue for the North Island.” She looked up at Callie, who hovered with folded arms. “Can I help you?”

  Callie ran her tongue over her teeth, glanced at him, then turned on her heel and walked back to her office, where the door swung slowly shut.

  Neve blew out a long, relieved breath, bent forward, and rested her forehead on the table.

  “Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

  She sat up again and rolled her eyes. “I thought she’d never leave.” She gave him an exasperated look. “And I thought you’d blown it in there, being cheeky to her. She was already flustered because you have a… well, you know.” She gestured at his crotch.

  Gene opened his mouth to give a sarcastic retort, then stared at her. Wait a minute. He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘blown it in there’? You need a replacement that much?”

  “Well, yes, but I meant the secret mission.” Neve’s voice dropped to an amusing stage whisper. “Phoebe told me everything.”

  “Really?” That surprised him. Callie’s mother had been very clear that he was to keep his ulterior motive for being there from her daughter.

  “Phoebe needed my help,” Neve admitted. “It wasn’t too much of a stretch to convince Callie that Becky needed to finish work early. But we knew she wouldn’t go for a male PA unless there was no alternative.”

  “So you made sure the other candidates were bad on purpose?”

  Neve just grinned. Striking rather than pretty, with brown hair cut in a long bob, boyish clothes, and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude, she obviously cared enough about her friend to go through with this elaborate charade.

  She leaned back in the chair and gave him a curious look. “Can you really type ninety words a minute?”

  “Damn straight. And I do know how to tie my own shoelaces.”

  She chuckled. “You may mock, but it’s a pretty good speed for a soldier. And by the way, I thought you weren’t supposed to tell her you were ex-Army.”

  “I wasn’t, but she guessed. I don
’t want to lie unless I really have to.”

  Neve nodded. “She’s very astute.”

  “So I gather.”

  She cocked her head at him. “You’re really the director of Safe & Secure?”

  “Yep.”

  “So you’re, like, a real bodyguard?”

  “Yep. Except we call them PPOs, personal protection officers.”

  “Phoebe told me she’d asked for you personally.”

  “Yes. That was… unexpected. But she wants to keep her daughter safe—I can understand it.”

  “Callie doesn’t want a bodyguard,” Neve said.

  “I know. Hence the undercover act.”

  “She threw a fit when Phoebe suggested it.”

  “I bet. Why didn’t she want one?”

  “She doesn’t like being told what to do—especially by her mother.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Phoebe was a Crown prosecutor at one of the biggest law firms in Wellington. A gangster she’d put away six years ago and who had recently come out of prison had sent her a death threat that had also mentioned her daughter, prompting her to seek protection until he was caught.

  Gene had known her for a long time, and he suspected he was one of the few people she didn’t boss around. He could only imagine the kind of pressure she’d put on Callie to accept security. He was amazed Callie had managed to resist. Clearly, it hadn’t done her any good. Phoebe had just changed to underhanded measures to get what she wanted. He couldn’t blame her, though, when the safety of her daughter was at stake.

  “So what are the rest of your company doing while you’re up here?” Neve asked.

  “They’re doing stuff I can’t do while I’m not in the office, mainly with Phoebe, as she’s the main target. Callie was mentioned in the letter, but it was Phoebe’s life that was threatened directly. I am still surprised that Callie’s going on this tour, though.”