by Lisa Plumley
Speaking of success …
Where was her über-impressive new wunderkind boss? She wasn’t going to be working as a direct report to Jimmy Torrance, Natasha remembered as she watched Mr. Desktop considerately shield his paramour from view so she could get dressed. She was going to work for Jimmy’s son, the famously titillating Damon Torrance, who’d been curiously absent from the hiring process.
He’s pretty easygoing about these things, Jimmy had explained with a nonchalant wave. He’ll be happy with my choice.
Natasha hoped Jimmy was right. As she watched the now-dressed woman scoop up a notepad, a pen, and several glossy issues of Oceanside Living from the credenza, she further hoped that whoever worked in this office wasn’t too attached to their desktop calendar. Because although Mr. Desktop hastily gave it a sideways shove to straighten it, the calendar looked wrecked. The only way to extract any useful information from it would be to read and interpret the butt prints. Everybody knew that, in the Internet age, butt-based cryptanalysis was a dying art.
Finally, the door shut behind the woman. Silence descended on the office, emphasized by the low crash of the surf outside.
Jimmy cleared his throat. The mystery man didn’t speak, leaving Natasha plenty of time to notice that in addition to behaving in an undeniably chivalrous manner toward the woman, he’d also tried to compose himself by dragging on his shirt. But that effort was largely ineffective. He’d buttoned his shirt crookedly, he still seemed … distracted somehow (probably by thoughts of all the workplace exhibitionist sex he was missing out on), and his dark wavy hair, while doing a very good job of framing his handsome, sharp-nosed, stubble-jawed face, looked all bedhead-y and messy, too. It was way too easy to imagine him actually lolling around sexily in bed, Natasha thought, which definitely spoiled the whole “I’m hard at work” effect.
Evidently he hadn’t gotten the memo that, these days, all the cool guys gunked up their hair with gel. Even her husband, Paul, who’d been a hard-core flannel-and-grunge guy when they’d met, now looked like a runaway member of ’N Sync. It could have been worse, though. He could have developed a thing for those velour tracksuits or the loud shirts worn by TV poker players.
Natasha was sick to death of poker. If she never saw another green baize table with sunglasses-wearing card players around it—on TV, in a movie, or at a party—it would be too soon. In fact, she didn’t even know why poker was so popular. American Idol she understood. Kelly Clarkson really was talented; she’d deserved her win. As current pop culture phenomena went, even the merging of J.Lo and Ben Affleck into “Bennifer” was easier to tolerate. As a matter of fact, Natasha was kind of rooting for them both. At heart, she was a die-hard romantic. She wanted true love to conquer all. So when it came right down to it …
Suddenly, she realized that Mr. Desktop was watching her. There was no question: He’d caught her daydreaming on the job. It was a good thing he wasn’t her boss, Natasha told herself with a stalwart lift of her chin, because she didn’t think she wanted a supervisor who could read her so easily. She definitely didn’t want one who looked quite so … fascinating while he did it.
No wonder he’d successfully seduced a woman on a desktop. In broad daylight. With strangers wandering the halls outside. Mr. Desktop had some kind of remarkable give-it-to-me mojo—some kind of you-know-you-want-to appeal that would have softened even the hardest of hearts. Or opened even the most tightly crossed legs. Not that she wanted to open her legs, but still …
Vividly, Natasha imagined herself on that desk, crumpling the calendar with her own nearly naked booty, having her shirt unbuttoned and her neck kissed, with her breasts heaving and her thighs parting as she pulled Mr. Desktop closer and closer… .
Too late, she understood. “You’re Damon Torrance.”
Chapter 2
Damon’s eyes gleamed, brown and full of mischief. “Guilty. And you’re my new assistant.” He held out his hand. “I’m sorry about … before. It was all my fault. Sometimes I get carried away.” His smile looked unrepentant, full of blatant resolve to besmirch that very same desk ten minutes from now if he had the chance. Probably he would. Contritely, he put his free hand over his heart. “I promise I’ll try to reform while you’re here.”
He made it sound so temporary. “While I’m here?”
He seemed abashed. “Your predecessors haven’t lasted long.”
“Oh.” Wondering why that was, Natasha accepted his handshake. As she did, an unmistakable jolt crackled through her. It felt real. Electric. Her knees weakened. She wanted to stare. She did stare. Damon Torrance was different when his focus was centered on you, she realized. His eyes, his face, his shoulders, his mouth … even his nice white teeth all seemed ridiculously interesting. “Why is that?” she asked, striving not to steer his hand to her breast. Oh God. Had she really just thought that? What was the matter with her? She slapped on a casually inquisitive look. “Is the work difficult?”
“Not really.” Damon shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
She couldn’t quit gawking. Reluctantly, Natasha slipped her hand from his grasp. Sex appeal rolled from him in dizzy waves. It broke along the shore of her determination not to be wooed, then crested again. It was a good thing she’d armored herself with a prim suit, worn her hair in a strict ponytail, and gotten used to tamping down her more … inventive side while at work.
Well, technically she’d gotten used to tamping down her inventive side everyplace these days, in every circumstance—mostly to make way for Paul’s inventive side to flourish, since he needed it to make a living and she didn’t—but still … she’d been smart to play it cool for her first day at work.
“The truth is, my assistants all leave because I sleep with them,” Damon explained, appearing unbothered by admitting it. “Sometimes they fall in love with me. Sometimes I fall in love with them. It never lasts. I’m kind of fickle.” Another grin. This one seemed thoughtful … and maybe 10 percent devilish, besides. “But that won’t be a problem with you, Natasha.” He turned. “Right, Dad?”
Jimmy Torrance frowned. “I hope not, son.” Astutely, he glanced at Natasha. “He’s right. He is fickle. This thing with the journalist was just the latest in a long line of—”
“Come on. I already explained that. All my fault.” Damon held up his palm, good-naturedly diverting the conversation. “Anyway, I won’t be having those problems with Natasha.”
“You won’t be?” Perversely, she felt stung. She also felt idiotically enamored of the way he said her name. Natasha. Nataaasha. She could have listened to him say it all day. All night. Over and over and—Just in time, she got a grip on herself. She shook her head. “No,” Natasha announced in her most forceful, definitive tone. “You won’t be.” A beat. “You won’t be having any problems wanting to sleep with me because … ?”
“Because you’re married.” Damon raised his eyebrows, appearing surprised to have to explain himself. “A man’s got to have his principles. Mine involve Pop-Tarts, kung fu, and not screwing around with married women.”
At her undoubtedly openmouthed expression, he laughed.
“Especially happily married women,” Damon added, “which you qualify as, if that enormous hickey on your neck is anything to go by.” He leaned nearer. With a conspiratorial whisper—and a cheerful wink—he added, “Makeup never works to hide them. Especially on blondes, like you.” He nodded at her shoulder-length blond hair, then gave the rest of her a swift, masculine, thrillingly appreciative perusal. Natasha had the unmistakable impression he’d seen all of her … and approved wholeheartedly, too. Damon’s gaze whipped back to her hickey. “Just hold your head high and forget about it. That’s all you can do.”
That sounded like the voice of experience talking. Aghast, Natasha flung her palm over her neck. She’d forgotten about her hickey—and for one brief nanosecond, she’d forgotten about being married, too. But now that Damon had pointed it out, her marriage came rushing back to her. So did her ability to use
her brainpower for more than swooning over her new boss.
Of course she didn’t want Damon to want to sleep with her. She had principles, too! While they didn’t involve junk food or martial arts, they did involve avoiding infidelity.
No matter what.
“Wait a minute. I didn’t tell you Natasha was married.” With endearing old-school politeness, Jimmy swerved his gaze away from her telltale hickey. “I didn’t even give you her personnel file—not that you would have read it if I had.”
“You didn’t have to tell me. I guessed.” Damon gave her a speculative look. “You’re a newlywed, right? Just back from your honeymoon? I’d say you went to … someplace sunny. Acapulco? No, wait.” He snapped his fingers. “Cancun, right along the coast.”
This time, Natasha knew she was staring openmouthed. “I haven’t even unpacked yet. How did you … ?”
“Your wedding ring. And your glow. You’re glowing.”
At that, she beamed. She probably was glowing. Because of Paul, Natasha reminded herself. Because of her husband.
“My husband is an artist. A painter,” she felt compelled to say. “He’s very talented. He was especially inspired by Mexico.”
“Mmm.” Obviously, Damon was too busy practicing his Twenty Questions-style guessing game to give too much thought to trivialities like husbands. Or their unique artistic inspirations. “The pattern of your sunburn was a dead giveaway.” Damon nodded at the neckline of her suit. “If you weren’t so buttoned up, it would be even more obvious.”
It was a good thing she was “buttoned up.” Otherwise, Damon’s apparent X-ray vision would have left her feeling even more exposed than she already did. As though the imprint of her teeny honeymoon bikini was imprinted on her skin—and technically it was, only in reverse—Natasha crossed her arms over her chest.
“Besides, you didn’t have to give me Natasha’s personnel file, Dad,” Damon went on blithely … the same way he appeared to do everything. “Brittney in HR was dying to do me a favor.”
Jimmy sniffed. “I’ll just bet she was.” He shook his finger at his son. “This is why I hired a new assistant for you!”
“Right. And your insistence on doing that is why I went along with it.” Damon tossed his father a plaintive look—one the elder Torrance seemed to miss. “I want to make you proud, Dad.”
“That’s easy. Don’t sleep with this one! Hear me?”
“I hear you.” All the same, Damon appeared wounded. “Don’t I get any credit for doing my due diligence this time? I read the personnel file! It was boring!” He stared out the window, possibly hungering for a turn in the lineup of surfers. “That’s more than I did when the last four assistants came on board.”
“Four?” Natasha blurted. “You slept with four of them?”
Her new boss was a man slut. This job was going to be tricky. She was going to have her hands full of him. With him!
Damon had the grace to appear embarrassed. “Except for one instance, it wasn’t my idea, I swear.” He gave her a humble look. “Was I supposed to say no? Feelings would have been hurt.”
“Right.” She scoffed. “Women just leap into your arms.”
Unfazed, Damon and Jimmy gazed at her. They both nodded.
“Yeah. Pretty much,” Damon said, rubbing his stubbled jaw.
“Since he was a teenager,” Jimmy agreed with a long-suffering sigh. “It’s the damnedest thing. But when you interviewed with me, Natasha, and said you were about to get married, I knew—”
“You knew you’d found your son’s kryptonite. Me.”
It was all right there in Damon Torrance’s philosophies for living: Pop-Tarts, kung fu, and not screwing around with married women. Simultaneously relieved and incredulous, Natasha frowned.
“My qualifications for this job go way beyond being married,” she argued. “I’m smart, I’m capable, I’m passionate—”
“I’m listening,” Damon said, perking up.
“—and I’m not going to put up with any bullshit. Get it?”
Both men widened their eyes. It was almost as though they’d never heard a blue-eyed, blond-haired, bubbly California girl talk frankly before. Jimmy rallied first. Soberly, he nodded.
“Based on my research”—and Natasha had, indeed, done plenty of research, because while you could take the girl out of UCSD, you couldn’t take the UCSD out of the girl—“I think you’re headed for the top of your field, Damon. And I intend to go straight to the top with you. If that’s not what you want, tell me right now, because I don’t have time to waste. I’ve done a lot of work to get my foot in the door at a good company. Now that I’m here, I plan to take full advantage of it.”
She might have downgraded her ambitions to the assistant level in order to help support her husband, Natasha knew, but she’d be damned if she’d tamp them down completely.
Gratifyingly, this time Damon was the one staring at her.
Solemnly, he took her hand in his. “You’re not kryptonite. You’re incredible. You’re like …” Seeming at a loss for words, he swore. “You’re like a badass cheerleader who makes straight A’s. Like a fast-talking Goody Two-shoes who just shot her first Playboy centerfold. Like the world’s sexiest, strictest, most nurturing CPA-turned-supermodel.” Seeming on the verge of coming up with several more unlikely alter egos for her, Damon stopped. He smiled. “You’re unique, is what I’m trying so say. I do want what you want. In fact, I think I just fell in love you.”
For a heartbeat, Natasha was almost sucked in by that. His deep brown eyes lured her. His happy-go-lucky grin beckoned her. Even his body, all tall and strong and masculine as he stood there before her, seemed somehow magnetized to pull her nearer.
She wondered, incredibly and nonsensically, what it would be like to be truly loved by a man like Damon Torrance. Then she gave herself a mental pinch and came to her senses for good.
“Don’t tell me that again.” Natasha pulled away. Doing so required far more effort than she would have liked or intended ever to admit. This … attraction she felt toward Damon would have to be squashed, plain and simple. It was wrong and foolhardy and just … wrong. She loved Paul! She truly did. “Don’t tell me you love me. Don’t flirt. Don’t inform me of your sexual conquests or expect me to bail you out of them. I’m your assistant, not your nanny. If you remember that, we’ll get along fine.”
“You’re my assistant, not my nanny,” Damon repeated.
Even as he dutifully said those words, though, he just kept on grinning at her. It was as though she were a ray of sunshine warming him, an adorable puppy cheering him, a plate of Pop-Tarts … well, she didn’t know what the Pop-Tarts were for, only that he seemed to have an ideology constructed around them.
Someday, she’d have to ask him about that.
“Right. And if you don’t remember that—if you try to take advantage of me—I won’t hesitate to take my talents elsewhere. Got it?” Natasha held out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Curiously, Damon considered her. “Do you always set up so many boundaries before doing things?”
“Usually they’re necessary.”
To her relief, Damon didn’t ask why they were necessary.
Instead, he made a rueful face. “Why do I feel, all of a sudden, that you’re the one who’s hiring me?”
At the other desk, Jimmy laughed. “You’d better agree, son. If you try to stall, she’ll talk you into a ten percent raise.”
“Good idea.” Natasha nodded. “But now that I’ve sized up the job, I’d say fifteen percent sounds more appropriate.”
“Done.” Jimmy agreed. “It’ll be worth every penny just to see how this turns out—for however long it lasts, at least.”
Natasha couldn’t let his skepticism affect her. Now that she knew they needed her as much as she needed them, she had a little bit of leverage. It felt unfamiliar—but kind of good, too. Despite its newness, she couldn’t help liking it.
And Paul had said she wouldn’t be good at
business… .
Damon gave her a forthright look. “Do you mean it?” he asked soberly. “Do you really think you can handle me?”
At that moment, Natasha could think of several scintillating ways to handle him. But since she was trying to focus on staying true to her wedding vows—and since Damon actually seemed concerned and hopeful and boyishly earnest—she turned her thoughts in a less bawdy direction. She nodded.
“Together, I think we can take on the world and win.”
With that, Damon clasped her hand. Natasha felt another inner tremor rock her from her heels on up. As she and her new boss sealed their reckless deal, she hoped with all her might that the words she’d just said would be prophetic.
Together, I think we can take on the world and win.
She didn’t know what that would look like or how it would feel. But now that she’d met Damon Torrance in person, Natasha had the sudden, unmistakable sensation that for the first time in her life, winning big was possible. She would have been a fool to let that go … no matter how stupidly giddy she felt when Damon smiled at her. She could handle that. Easy-peasy.
All she had to do was get started.
Oh, and stay married.
That way, she’d qualify as Damon’s kryptonite for the long haul. After all, that’s what seemed to have nabbed her the job over all the competition in the first place.
But since Natasha intended to do both those things anyway—get started and stay married—there was no problem here.
No problem at all …
Chapter 3
June 2007
Maranello, Italy
With his heart pounding, Damon gripped the wheel of the vintage Ferrari he was driving. He rounded the next corner at the Fiorano Circuit, feeling more alive than he had in months.
The car’s engine roared. The chassis rumbled, transmitting barely contained power to Damon’s entire body. The smells of petrol, motor oil, and burnt rubber filled the air. Gleefully, he inhaled all of it. His hands were full. But he wanted more.