Sex, Lies and the CEO

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Now that’s not something you see every day.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, Shane. You should have said something.”

  “Huh?” He tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed.

  She giggled from inside the closet.

  He paced across the floor, coming to the entrance of the closet and grasping both sides of the jamb. “What are you—”

  She stood in the middle of his closet, a saucy grin on her face, a pair of tiger-striped boxer shorts held up to her waist.

  “They’re you,” she sing-songed.

  “They were a gift.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure they were.”

  “The tags are still attached.”

  She held them out. “Put ’em on.”

  “Not a chance.”

  She pouted. “I bet they’re sexy.”

  “Then you put them on.”

  “Yeah?” She waggled her brows.

  “I dare you,” he said.

  “You dare me?”

  “I do.”

  She lowered them to her knees, bending over, lifting one foot to step in. The dress shirt gaped open, only two buttons fastening it, giving him an excellent view.

  “Take your time,” he told her.

  She looked up and stuck out her tongue, turning him on even more. Then she pulled them up to her waist, fisting the fabric at the back so they wouldn’t fall down.

  “What do you think?”

  He stepped forward, grinning. “Oh, baby.”

  She did a pirouette. “We don’t need fancy lingerie.”

  “You wear lingerie?”

  “What woman doesn’t?”

  “Where is it? Can you get it? Let’s go.”

  She laughed.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist, settling her close. “You look ridiculous.”

  “Not as ridiculous as you’d have looked.”

  “You took a bullet for me,” he crooned.

  “That’s the kind of woman I am.”

  For some reason, the teasing went out of him, and he sobered. “I like the kind of woman you are.”

  Her smile disappeared. “Shane, don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t be serious. I can’t do this if you’re going to be serious.”

  “I seriously want you.” He flicked open the two buttons on the shirt, splaying his hand inside, moving across her rib cage around to the smooth skin of her back.

  “I look ridiculous,” she whispered.

  “You look beautiful. You always look beautiful. I can’t imagine anyone more beautiful than you.”

  He leaned down to leave a path of kisses along her shoulder. Her skin was warm, smooth, fragrant.

  She murmured, “I’m still working against you.”

  “I know.” But he truly didn’t care.

  “I’m in here, searching for evidence.”

  “I know that, too.”

  He couldn’t resist, so he closed one hand over her breast. As he caressed her, her nipple beaded against his palm, hijacking his senses.

  He reached for her hand, releasing the fingers that gripped the tiger-print fabric. She let the silly shorts drop to the floor. The shirt gaped open, and her skin was hot against his.

  “My plan,” she told him breathlessly.

  He began to lower to the carpet, bringing her with him.

  “My plan,” she repeated, even as she went willingly with him.

  He sat on the floor then and she slipped sweetly onto his lap.

  She ran her fingers through his hair.

  “I like you like this,” he breathed.

  She drew in a couple of deep breaths. “My plan was to wait until you were asleep and ransack your father’s room.”

  “I’ll help you,” said Shane.

  “You shouldn’t help me.”

  He anchored her hips. “I can’t get enough of you.”

  Her head dropped back and she moaned as she brought them together as one.

  He kissed her jawline, her cheek and then her mouth. He drank in every intoxicating move of her hips. She was hot and slick, and her scent clung to him.

  Though they’d just made love, he felt as if this was their first time. His passion held no patience. He went from zero to a thousand in a single breath. He was terrified he’d leave her behind, he wanted to slow things down, but his primal nature had taken over.

  “Shane,” she purred in his ear. “Oh, Shane.” Her voice was silky smooth as she spurred him on, repeating his name over and over.

  And then her purring turned to loud gasps and she cried out in pleasure. He followed her, doing the same, relishing sensation after sensation. What if he’d never found this woman?

  He held her tight, sweat gathered between them. Their hearts were pounding in time to one another’s as they both struggled for air.

  “That was...” He started the sentence but couldn’t find the right adjective. Nothing was strong enough. Nothing was good enough.

  “Distracting,” she said.

  He managed a smile. “That wasn’t where I was going.”

  “We’re in your closet.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I’ve never had sex in a closet.”

  “I’ve never had sex with someone in tiger-print shorts.”

  She chuckled, her body still resting against his.

  “To think I once hated those shorts.”

  “Do you still hate them?” she asked.

  “I think I love them.” His arms tightened around her.

  She chuckled. Then she drew a deep breath. “I meant what I said.”

  “What did you say?” He cast his mind back, hoping it was something great. Like she wanted to stay with him, live with him forever, maybe have his children.

  “As soon as you’re asleep, I’m ransacking your father’s old room.”

  “What are you hoping to find?”

  “I don’t know. A signed confession, maybe.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “You’ve got bad karma. You’re hoping I’ll fail.”

  “The confession is either there, or it isn’t. Karma’s not going to make it appear.”

  “You mean disappear.”

  “You’re grasping at straws again, Darci.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He cradled her cheeks, putting just enough space between their faces so he could focus. “Are you ever going to say die?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Can you live with it if you’re wrong? Can you live with me if you’re wrong?”

  “Can you live with it if I’m right?”

  “Yes.” It was such a far-fetched idea that Shane didn’t even have to think about it.

  “Then let’s go look.”

  She buttoned the shirt back up and rose from his lap.

  Then, with a mischievous grin, she tossed him the garish shorts.

  He gave a shrug, pulled them on.

  “I officially love these shorts,” he said as he got to his feet.

  He took her hand and led her to the bedroom door, out into the hallway, and down three doors to the master.

  It had been months, maybe years since he’d been inside. It wasn’t kept as a shrine or anything. In fact, guests had stayed here many times. But it wasn’t Shane’s room, and it never would be.

  He turned on the light, and Darci gasped, latching on to his arm.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.

  “Tell you what?”

  His gaze darted around the room. He was confused. Nothing looked out of place.

  “This.” She made a beeline acro
ss the floor.

  “What?”

  “This,” she repeated, spreading her hands across the walnut desk sitting against the far wall.

  “It’s not a secret desk.”

  “It’s old.”

  He followed her across the room. “My dad had it for years.”

  She opened the top drawer. “It might have old things in it.”

  “It’s empty, Darci.”

  She opened the right-hand drawer.

  “It’s empty,” he repeated.

  She opened the next drawer, moving faster, finding only a pen and a few stray paperclips.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.

  She opened the last drawer to find it empty. Then she slammed it shut and turned into his arms.

  Twelve

  Though the desk had been unfortunately empty, it had inspired Darci to look further. There could have been other things she’d missed in this big place. There was nothing to say the records room was the only cache of company information.

  After breakfast, she told Shane she was checking the other rooms in the mansion. With a fatalistic shake of his head, he waved her on her way, wishing her good luck. She didn’t care that he was skeptical. She wasn’t going to let it bother her.

  She scoured the main floor but found nothing promising. The second floor was the same. By the end of the third floor, her confidence was flagging.

  All that was left was the basement, and she’d been over most of it already.

  In the basement hallway, she could hear Shane, Justin and a couple of other male voices in the distance. Justin was saying they had to pack up the wine cellar, get back to the office, and Shane was agreeing.

  Darci didn’t blame them. She knew deep down this was her last chance. She took the little passage that led to the records room, deciding to double check every shelf. Maybe something had been misfiled. Perhaps there were D&I Holdings boxes mixed in with the Colborn ones.

  She started in the corner where the D&I Holdings boxes had been restacked. They were back in order, looking neat and tidy. The shelves cleaned beneath them. She ran her fingers across the smooth surface.

  The cartons on the next shelf were from Colborn, from the earliest years of the company. They were dusty and aged, some of them askew. It was obvious nobody had opened them for years. She could only imagine they were as jumbled inside as the D&I Holdings records.

  She straightened one, lining it up with the next. Then she straightened the container below that.

  A label caught her eye, far down on the bottom shelf. It said “Colborn Aerospace, Patent Applications.”

  She bent her knees, crouching down, rereading the tag. Then she slid the box from its spot.

  She took a deep breath, refusing to get her hopes up. She’d let herself get so excited so many times these past weeks—only to have her optimism ripped out from under her—and she refused to do it again.

  She carefully peeled off the packing tape and bent open the lid.

  She began to sort methodically through the documents. She found letters, instructions, forms, applications and registrations but nothing that mentioned a turbine.

  Then, about halfway through the box, she came to a thick sheaf of papers. They were folded in four, a note clipped to the outside.

  It was handwritten, and she recognized Dalton’s handwriting. Go ahead and file, it said. If he hasn’t done it by now, he doesn’t have them.

  Darci plunked her butt down on the concrete floor.

  She slowly unfolded the pages. Then she blinked to refocus, barely believing what she saw.

  They were photocopies of schematic drawings. They were labeled “turbine engine.” There was no signature on the pages, but there was a suspicious bright white patch in the bottom corner. And Dalton’s note was damning. File had to mean filing the patents. And the he had to refer to her father. This was Dalton telling somebody to file for the patents because he didn’t think Ian had the original drawings.

  Her body went cold with shock, then it turned hot with excitement. It was all true. Everything was true. And this was the proof.

  She could barely catch her breath as she rose to her feet, steadying herself with one hand on the nearest shelf. She left the room in a daze, stumbling along the hallway toward the wine cellar. Shane’s and the other voices grew louder as she drew near.

  She rounded the corner to stand in the doorway. Her throat was dry, and she had to swallow a couple of times.

  “I found it.” The words came out as a whisper.

  The four men stopped talking and stared at her, Shane, Justin, Tuck and another she didn’t recognize. A minute ticked by.

  “The drawings?” asked Shane.

  She gave a nod, moving into the cellar. “It’s a copy. But there’s a note. It was written by Dalton.”

  “He signed it?” asked Justin, whisking the papers from her hands.

  “No, but I recognize his handwriting. I’ve been reading things he wrote for days now.” The D&I Holdings boxes had been full of notes and memos written by both her father and by Dalton.

  “This could mean anything,” said Justin, flipping through the pages.

  “The note was clipped to a copy of the schematic drawings,” said Darci. “They were in a box labeled ‘Patent Applications.’”

  Justin took two steps to the big table. He handed Shane the note and spread out the drawings.

  “He’s saying they should file the patent,” Darci said to Shane. “Him means my father. And them are the original drawings. There’s no other way to interpret it.”

  “There are about a hundred other ways to interpret it,” said Justin, staring at the drawings.

  The other two men moved in for a look.

  “This is Dixon,” Tuck said to Darci. “My brother.”

  Darci gave the man an absent nod.

  “Hi, Darci,” said Dixon.

  Justin spoke to Darci. “There’s nothing here that links the drawings to your father.”

  “They whited out his signature,” said Darci, pointing to the curiously blank spot in the bottom corner.

  She might not be much of a spy, but even she could figure out that much. “They whited out his signature, filed the patent with a photocopy of the drawings and counted on the originals never coming to light. What else can he doesn’t have them mean?”

  “That note doesn’t contain a single proper noun,” said Justin. “It could be about the bathroom sink, for all we know.”

  Darci glanced at Shane, trying to gauge his reaction. He looked shell-shocked.

  “It was attached to schematic drawings of a turbine engine, not a bathroom sink,” she told them both.

  “So you say,” said Justin.

  “You think I’m lying?”

  She looked to Shane for support. After all this time, he should know she wouldn’t lie.

  Before Shane could speak, Justin jumped in. “This isn’t proof. We’re not handing over half a billion dollars on some vague, handwritten note.”

  “I don’t want half a billion dollars.” insisted Darci. How many times did she have to say it?

  “Yeah, right,” said Justin.

  She felt Tuck and Dixon’s speculative gazes on her.

  “Ask Shane.” She glanced at him again. Why wouldn’t he speak up? “I asked him for fair-market value at 1989 prices.”

  “That’s it?” Tuck asked Darci, surprise in his tone.

  She nodded to him. “Plus interest. Plus credit to my dad for the invention.”

  “Plus, plus, plus...” said Justin with conviction.

  “It’s perfectly fair,” said Darci.

  “And what will you want after that?” he asked.

  Darci glared at him.r />
  “Half of Colborn,” said Dixon, his gaze calculating as he watched her.

  “That’s exactly what she wants,” said Justin.

  “I don’t think she’s like that,” said Tuck.

  “Hello?” said Darci. “You can see me standing here, right?”

  “They’re all like that,” said Dixon.

  “You’re jaded,” said Tuck.

  “I’m realistic.”

  “What’s the matter with you people?” Darci couldn’t control her frustration any longer. Her attention went to Shane. “When you look at where I found it, what it says and what else we know, it proves Dalton stole the drawings.”

  “Not without signed originals,” said Tuck. His gaze was a lot more sympathetic than anyone else’s. “I’m sorry, Darci, but this doesn’t do it.”

  She glared at the lot of them, ending with Shane.

  When he finally spoke, his tone seemed sympathetic, and she experienced a glimmer of hope.

  But then he spoke. “It’s not that cut-and-dried.”

  He couldn’t see it. Or he wouldn’t see it. And she realized it hadn’t been sympathy in his voice. It was caution.

  And then it all made sense. She would have laughed if it wasn’t so painful. She was naive, a babe in the woods. These men were closing ranks to protect their own interests.

  “You were never going to believe,” she said to Shane. “It didn’t matter what I found, you’d have found a means to discredit it.”

  “You still need what you were looking for,” said Shane. “You need the signed originals.”

  “Before you’ll believe me?”

  “There’s too much at stake for—”

  “No, Shane. There was never anything at stake for you. Because you were never going to let this happen. You’ve been stringing me along the whole time.”

  “No,” he denied. “If you’d found the originals—”

  “You’d have discredited them, too.” Her chest tightened until it burned.

  She wanted to scream, and she wanted to cry. But she knew neither of those things would help. She was a fool, and she’d been had.

  With a shake of her head, she left them. Her heart turned to stone as she stormed along the basement hallway. She jogged up the staircase then trotted through the corridor and the great room before running down the front steps to where her car was parked in the drive.