Ulterior Motives

by Laura Leone

  Ross must have known next to nothing about running a language school, Shelley thought, yet by the end of the year the school was turning a substantial profit and their only competition had been forced to close down.

  That experience laid the pattern for Ross’ career with Elite. Montpazier had given him a huge bonus and immediately sent him to Munich. It had taken Ross just over ten months to set things straight there. His next assignment, in Hong Kong, had lasted barely nine months. He was learning fast and getting better each time.

  His travels read like a whirlwind tour of thrilling cities. Over the next four years he’d worked in New York, Los Angeles, Bangkok, Berlin, Milan, Sydney, Rio de Janeiro, Riyadh, Tokyo, and Zurich. It was no wonder that now Ross, at thirty-four, had no wife or family. Shelley doubted he’d ever been in one place long enough to acquire even a goldfish.

  Eighteen months ago he’d disappeared again. He’d quit and left Elite with no word about where he was going or what he intended to do. Wayne’s source said that Henri Montpazier practically thought of Ross as his own son and was hurt by this behavior. For whatever reason, Ross had returned to work less than six months later and was promptly sent to Madrid, followed by Washington. And now Cincinnati.

  He had never failed, Shelley realized as she read through his accomplishments with Elite. Whatever the situation—incompetent or dishonest management, economic crisis, fierce competition, natural disaster, or sheer apathy—Ross created vibrant success out of failure. In big cities like New York and Tokyo, his success usually had little effect on his competitors, but in smaller cities he efficiently eliminated all competition. He occasionally hired staff from competing schools, thus bankrupting his competitors of employees as well as clients.

  Shelley put down the report and tried to calm the panic rising inside her. Ross Tanner could very well destroy her budding career. She knew she was good at her job and believed she could hold her own against stronger competition than Chuck; but it seemed like no one could hold their own against Ross. If she lost everything to Ross, Babel wouldn’t simply shrug and offer her another challenging post. Even if they didn’t fire her, she would be lucky to find herself cleaning out storage rooms at the distribution center in New Jersey.

  She was full of questions. Why had Ross quit, and why had he come back to work? What had he done in the interim? What made him so successful at every aspect of the business? What was his weak spot? He must have one; no one was perfect.

  She thought back to the scene in her office earlier that day. Of course he wasn’t perfect! He’d been taken in by Chuck, hadn’t he? Shelley thought Chuck was patently one of the sleaziest men she’d ever met, which was one of the reasons she refused to comply with his pompous request to be called Charles or Mr. Winston-Clarke. If Ross was so clever, why hadn’t he figured out immediately that Chuck was a dishonest schmuck dipping his hand into the cookie jar?

  Her chief strength in this business was in knowing people. She relied on her intuition, and it had always served her well. If that was the only advantage she had over Ross, she would have to use it cunningly. What’s more, she would have to study him. If there was anything about him she could emulate in order to strengthen her position, she would.

  Time for bed, she decided. She would need a full night’s sleep. In addition to being the director of a business under siege, starting tomorrow she would also be a full-time student. Ross would be her mentor, whether he knew it or not.

  He’d acted like a fool. He could see that now, and it bothered him. He was not accustomed to making stupid mistakes. He was disgusted with himself for acting without proper forethought.

  Shelley was right, of course. The Elite school was losing money hand over fist, and the financial records were so conveniently messy that no one could trace the loss. The very first thing he should have done was look into Chuck’s lifestyle and expenses. Chuck’s insistence that he never touched the financial logbooks and his repeated protests that he didn’t understand such things should have merely highlighted his culpability. Ross would have to spend the next couple of days in relentless examination of the accounts for the past few years. Whatever Chuck had done, however well he had hidden it, Ross would figure it out and take the measures necessary to put a stop to it.

  Furthermore, Chuck’s innuendo about Shelley was such a tired, overused, obvious ploy to cover himself for losing so much business to her that Ross was deeply embarrassed to have fallen for it. Knowing Shelley personally only made him doubly ashamed. And going to her office to confront her about it was so heavy-handed that he could hardly believe he had done it. What the hell was the matter with him?

  He had let emotion cloud his usually razor-sharp approach. He hadn’t wanted to fire Chuck. He was tired of disrupting people’s lives, tired of uncomfortable scenes where people begged him for another chance, tired of lowering the boom—even on someone like Chuck who probably deserved it.

  He also realized with wry self-disgust that jealousy had played more than a small part in his behavior. He hadn’t wanted to believe or disbelieve Chuck. He had simply wanted to charge into Shelley’s office and make sure that no other man had ever touched her before or would ever touch her again. It was ridiculous, of course. She was twenty-eight years old, beautiful, and desirable; naturally other men had touched her before, and other men would touch her again long after he was gone.

  Ross tried to remember whether he had ever been so irrepressibly jealous before. It wasn’t like him. He wasn’t possessive and couldn’t be possessed. Whatever city he happened to be in, he would meet a woman and, if the chemistry was right, he would become her considerate, carefree, and charming lover with no strings attached.

  Nothing like Shelley had ever happened to him before. He was accustomed to being what a woman expected of him: rakish, dashing, slightly mysterious. When the relationship ended, or when he moved on to a new city, he always took care to end the affair with the sort of dramatic flair the woman wanted: a red rose and a tender note; a champagne dinner and a kiss on the hand; an expensive gift and a plea for some memento to remember her by. All tried and true methods—nothing original—but in their own way, good, clean fun that was appreciated without being taken too seriously.

  Shelley affected him differently, though, and it bothered him. He supposed that their first meeting did have a certain dramatic flair, but he hadn’t planned it and wouldn’t have cared if they’d met in a bus station.

  Her eyes were always filled with open honesty, candid curiosity, and quick perception. She wanted to know who he was, and she didn’t camouflage her true nature in any way. Every time he was with her, he responded physically; he couldn’t help it. But he also responded personally, emotionally. He wanted to tell her who he was, what he really thought, how he felt. He enjoyed her reaction to his practiced charm, yet he wanted her to know and accept what lay under the surface. He wanted to make some of her little fantasies come true but, for once, he was aware of fantasies she could fulfill for him, too.

  Unfortunately, after yesterday he had a feeling that the only fantasy she cherished about him was seeing the last of him. The report she had about him wouldn’t improve matters, either.

  He supposed the information had come from Babel’s New York and Paris offices. They had made a hobby of checking up on him, particularly since that time in Bangkok when he’d hired away half their staff to fill his own school. He’d heard that the former offices of the Babel school in Bangkok now housed a travel agency.

  Of course, a lot of his past was unaccounted for, but he was sure there was enough information to tell Shelley about his wild youth, his wrong-side-of-the-law days, and his ruthless business practices. He wondered which particular aspect of his life would make her loathe him the most.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall and realized he’d been daydreaming for quite a while, which also wasn’t like him. He would be barely on time for his appointment with Mike Paige at Keene International. It was just after eleven o’clock in the morning, a
nd they had agreed to have lunch together when their meeting was concluded.

  Shelley sat in the China Palace, poking at her food and pretending to be enthralled by her companion’s conversation. He was Mike Paige’s boss, and they had scheduled their meeting to take place in the restaurant. Judging by the man’s girth, he undoubtedly scheduled all his meetings in restaurants. Mike did the work of assembling and assessing information about Babel and Elite, but the decision would be left up to his boss. Mike had some influence over him, but probably not enough to ensure Shelley’s success. She had a problem on her hands; the man was an insufferable chauvinist and made no secret about his reluctance to do business with a woman. Shelley had been able to win out against Chuck, but now Ross was in town.

  “It was a beautiful weapon, but the trigger guard—Do you know anything about shotguns, Michelle?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” she admitted. The man was a weapons collector. And a hunter. And a deep-sea fisherman. Apparently if it could kill or be killed, he considered it a good hobby. She loved the China Palace but was losing her appetite after several stories about blowing away little furry creatures with big brown eyes. Where were Mike and Ross? she wondered.

  She had called Mike Paige first thing that morning and convinced him to bring Ross to the China Palace after their meeting. They would stop by Shelley’s table. Everyone would comment on what a coincidence it was and decide to lunch together. Shelley invented several good reasons for Mike to agree to this plan; her real reason was to study Ross with these potential clients.

  “And so was the firing pin,” continued her companion, laughing heartily. “Of course, not knowing anything about shotguns or rifles, you couldn’t appreciate—”

  “What a surprise!” said a smooth voice with just a touch of irony. Shelley turned quickly to find herself staring up into Ross’ sparkling blue eyes. Since one glance told her he realized instantly that she’d planned this, she didn’t try to pretend otherwise. The slight puzzlement in his eyes told her he just didn’t know why she had arranged this, and she intended to use that to her advantage.

  “Ross! How about this?” exclaimed Mike’s boss, obviously pleased to see a real man’s man in their midst. Now was her chance: apart from being male, how would Ross get through to this bloodthirsty lump of flesh who held her future in his paws?

  “May we join you?” Ross asked with confident ease.

  “By all means! Pull up a chair. I was just telling Michelle here about this guy who tried to sell me... Have you two met, by the way?”

  “We haven’t been formally introduced,” Ross said, seating himself next to Shelley and extending his hand.

  “That’s true,” she said laconically. She placed her small hand in his big, warm one. “But I’ve heard so much about you.”

  His hand tightened imperceptibly over hers. “Really? And I’ve heard so little about you. How long have you been in the business?”

  Score one, she thought. He’d done it very neatly, too. “Almost two years,” she said.

  “You’ve been a director for two years?” he persisted.

  She tried unsuccessfully to pull her hand away. “No. I’ve been a director for one year.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said in a tone that subtly underlined her lack of experience.

  Don’t get angry, she reminded herself, learn from him. He had just politely knocked her down a peg in the client’s eyes. It was worth remembering.

  He covered their clasped hands with his free hand and used the camouflage to caress her palm with his fingertips. “And how do you like your new job?” he asked charmingly.

  “It’s hardly new,” Shelley said sweetly. “How do you like Cincinnati? Do you find it at all unsettling to do business in a city you can’t even find your way around in?”

  Ross’ eyes danced as she seethed. He squeezed her hand one last time—as if to express appreciation for her riposte—then released it.

  “Not at all. What are you eating?”

  “Moo Goo Gai Pan.”

  “Gesundheit.”

  “That looks good, Shelley,” Mike Paige said. “I think that’s what I’ll have.”

  “If you can get our waiter back,” grumbled Mike’s boss. “I haven’t seen him for ten minutes. The service here is awful.”

  Ross looked across the room and said, “Waiter.”

  Within thirty seconds someone was taking his order, refilling Shelley’s water glass, presenting a wine list, and clearing away the appetizer plates. She began to suspect that Ross owed his success to a secret ingredient she would never be able to emulate.

  While Shelley had planned this luncheon to observe Ross with Mike Paige and his boss, Ross was using the occasion to breach her defenses. He flirted with her outrageously. Mike’s boss was too obtuse to notice it. Mike himself was clearly confused, since he knew how fierce the competition between Babel and Elite was for Keene’s contract.

  Shelley was relieved that Ross had never used the full force of his charm on her when they were alone. She doubted she would have escaped with her virtue intact. He flattered her, he teased her, he listened attentively to every word she uttered, he made her feel beautiful and brilliant and special. And, amazingly, he did this all without ever neglecting their companions. He encouraged Mike and his boss to tell them all about their careers and goals while he burned Shelley’s flesh with his hot gaze, warmed her soul with his secretive smiles, and confused her with the intensity of his presence.

  He was so much more dangerous than she had realized, she thought dazedly. How could she have known? She had never met anyone like him before. He could talk his way into the Kremlin. He could be the first unbeliever allowed inside the Great Mosque at Mecca. He could build the Tower of Babel and get away with it. Even heaven would be taken in by that smile, those eyes, that suggestive voice.

  Stop it, Shelley, stop it, she chided herself. She knew full well what he was doing, and she was still overwhelmed. She had always detested flirts, always been suspicious of easy charm, and yet he had her eating out of his hand. Time to take charge, she decided.

  She stiffened her spine and shifted her body away from Ross. Everyone’s attitude indicated that it would be gauche to bring up business now or press Keene for a decision. The next best thing would be to take everyone’s attention off Ross. With wide, enraptured eyes she questioned Mike’s boss about his loathsome hobbies.

  “The biggest set of antlers I’ve ever seen...” the man was saying ten minutes later as the plates were cleared away. Every time there was a pause in the conversation she shifted attention back to him, willfully keeping Ross from making any further impression on the group.

  Ross sat back with an amused expression and made no attempt to interfere. She wanted to snap at him that she hadn’t planned this meeting for his personal pleasure, but knew it would only increase his enjoyment.

  “There’s this place in Pennsylvania...”

  Shelley sipped her coffee, letting her hand drop down to dangle beside her chair. Within seconds she felt warm, strong fingers stroke her palm and then interlace with her own fingers.

  She drew in her breath sharply, drawing Mike’s gaze. “How exciting,” she murmured. She saw Ross’ grin out of the corner of her eye and wished she had chosen different words.

  “It was an antique, genuine eighteenth century. Worth thousands...”

  Shelley tried to pull her hand away, and Ross’ grip tightened. Slowly, inexorably, he pulled her hand closer to him as he shifted his body towards her. There was a predatory glitter in his hooded eyes that made her heart beat faster. His free hand covered hers, and he began to gently massage the soft underside of her wrist.

  Shelley’s lips parted and she felt her breath grow shallow. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on their companions and wondered what to do about this. Those strong caressing fingers sent little hot waves of pleasure running up her arm and into her chest.

  He gently, caressingly squeezed her wrist, relaxed and squeezed again and again an
d again, establishing an unmistakable, suggestive rhythm. As soon as the thought flashed into her mind, she felt her cheeks flush. She would kill him for this. As if taking pity on her crumbling composure, he ceased his teasing massage to trail his fingers back down her wrist with a feather-light touch and tickle her palm.

  The sensation nearly forced a throaty sigh from her. She bit back the noise with effort, and, as a result, her teeth chattered. That drew a surprised and laughing glance from Ross.

  “Are you cold, Shelley?” he asked with insufferable concern.

  “No,” she said tersely.

  “You look kind of hot, actually,” Mike interjected. “You’re all flushed.”

  “Really?” she said weakly.

  “Your eyes are glittering, too,” said Ross with exaggerated seriousness. “Perhaps you have a fever.” He maintained his grasp on her hand while his free hand came out from under the table and reached for her brow.

  “Of course, I don’t—”

  “Shh, talking raises your temperature,” he crooned while he felt her forehead, touched her cheek, rubbed the back of her neck, and stroked the soft skin under her chin.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she snapped, trying to pull away from his blatantly intimate touch.

  “There’s a lot of flu going around,” Mike said.

  “Excuse me, sir, here’s your bill,” said a waiter.

  Mike and his boss turned away from Shelley and started arguing about which of them would put the lunch on his expense account. Shelley was about to enter into the argument, but Ross distracted her.

  “Do you think you might swoon?” he asked hopefully.

  “That does it,” she muttered, “I really am going to kill you for this.”