by Diana Palmer
“I’m sleepy,” she lied, with a smile in her voice.
“At this hour? God forbid! Wait up for me,” he added gently. “I may have some emails to get out after the meeting. With the time difference, I can be doing business yesterday and tomorrow with the rest of the world, even if people in the States are sleeping.” He chuckled.
“Okay.” She wished she hadn’t agreed so quickly. There was an odd, smug, almost predatory look on his broad face as she replied. He thought she’d be a pushover. He was right. She had to start thinking up excuses right now.
But before she could come up with anything useful, he was on his way out the door. “Barnes!” he called. “Let’s go.”
“I’ve already had them bring the limo around, sir. It’s waiting on you.”
“Thanks.” He paused long enough to whisper something to Barnes, who looked toward Emma with a worried expression. But he was well trained, and he quickly erased the emotion from his face.
Connor went out. Emma went back to the office, to deal with the usual clutter of emails that came from his various department heads. He kept an executive assistant at his office in Atlanta, and he had another at company headquarters in Chicago. Emma learned their names and was careful to read anything they sent to Connor as soon as the messages were received. Then she made summaries, talking points, of each one, so that it didn’t tire him so much to listen to dozens of inquiries. Anything she could refer to his executive secretary in Chicago, Tonia, she did. Apparently Tonia was practically his second-in-command. She coordinated the management people and reported back to Connor about any decisions that were needed on his part.
The aircraft corporation could have been called international, but it was more fitting to say that it had overseas affiliates. There were divisions in most of the European nations, along with competent managers who could function without being micromanaged. Connor pretty much left the managers alone until problems cropped up. He hired them for their ability to take charge, he’d told her once, and they were good at their jobs. He had a chain of command in each division, and Tonia knew who to call in an emergency if she couldn’t get hold of Connor. She’d been with the company for twenty years. Emma thought of her as an administrative assistant, but Connor said that Tonia was more of a division-level manager. Even the in-house flight management people answered to her as much as to Connor.
She noticed that even though he kept a fleet of corporate jets, most capable of international travel, he didn’t go to a lot of meetings. He told her that meetings were usually nonproductive, and expensive. Unless he was closing a deal, he let his executives deal with day-to-day irritations. The fact that his face was so well-known was another reason he disliked being visible. He’d purchased the lake house in Georgia with the idea that its very isolation would protect him from the press. And it had. It was a gated community, so journalists would have had to go through the very formidable security guard who manned the gatehouse. So far, nobody came in who wasn’t on the list of approved visitors.
She slid her hands slowly over the top of the desk, tracing where Connor’s big fingers had rested while he was dictating letters. It was pathetic, she told herself, being so moony over a man that she coveted even the touch of his fingerprints. She laughed softly at herself and went back to work.
* * *
He was back late. It was after ten o’clock when the limo dropped him at the front door. Barnes had already gone to bed. So had Marie. It was unusual for them to retire as early as they had, but perhaps they’d both been tired, she rationalized. She didn’t dare think of another reason they might have been told to keep out of the way when he returned.
He paused in the living room, one big hand on the back of the sofa, his face lined with fatigue. “Emma?” he called.
“I’m right here, sir,” she said in her soft voice.
He let out a breath. “Come outside with me. I need some fresh air.”
She slid her hand into his. “It’s this way. Two steps forward, turn right.”
He followed her directions, chuckling. “You’ve got this down to a science, haven’t you?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Just a sec.” He slid out of his jacket and handed it to her. His tie followed, along with his belt. “Much better,” he said heavily. While she was putting his things on the back of the sofa, he unbuttoned his shirt. “I could do with a few minutes of peace. Put this somewhere, too.” He pulled out his cell phone and handed it to her. “Turn it off. I’ve been available enough for one day.”
“Yes, sir.”
She shut off the cell phone and laid it on the end table. Then she took his hand and led him out onto the patio, where a breeze ruffled the tall palms and the casuarina pines.
“There’s a big divan, large enough for two,” he said. “Where is it?”
Alarm bells went off in her head, but the feel of his hand in hers made her reckless. “Over here.”
“I feel like a glass of wine. Don’t we have some white that’s chilled?”
“Yes. Marie put it in the fridge.”
“Know how to use a corkscrew?” he teased.
“I think I can figure it out.”
“Bring me a glass. And pour one for you.” He smiled, as if at some private joke. “Don’t be long. I might trip over something,” he added as he felt his way down on the big, cushioned divan on the patio, near the huge swimming pool at the back of the estate.
“I won’t.”
* * *
She found the corkscrew. After two tries, she managed to get the cork out. She poured two small glasses of wine and put the cork back in, sliding the bottle into the fridge.
She went out onto the patio and handed Connor his glass, retaining her own.
“Ideally, we’d have an ice bucket and champagne,” he mused. “Sit down. Here, beside me.”
“I’ve never had champagne,” she replied.
“Or wine, from the sound of things. I’m not trying to get you drunk, just in case you wondered,” he purred.
“You’re still corrupting me, you bad influence,” she chided.
“Sip the wine. It’s a chardonnay. Like drinking sunshine.”
She was dubious. But she put the glass to her lips and took a sip. She made a face. It wasn’t a sweet wine, like the blackberry wine her mother had soaked a cloth in and put on the fruitcake at Christmas. It was dry. But after the first sip, the next one didn’t taste so bad. By the fifth, she liked the taste.
“No complaints?” he teased.
“It’s really nice,” she said, surprised. “I thought it would taste like medicine. My father liked...hot toddies,” she lied. Her father had liked straight whiskey and she’d tasted a drop of it once. It hadn’t been pleasant at all.
“There’s a world of difference between whiskey and wine, honey,” he said softly.
She smiled. The endearment made her tingle all over. She was feeling very good, in fact.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
“My yellow sundress,” she said without thinking. “It’s so hot, even with the air-conditioning on...”
He chuckled. “Why do you think I’ve got my jacket off? There’s always a breeze out here. It feels nice. Here. Put this down, will you?” He handed her the Waterford crystal glass.
She put it, and her own, on the glass-topped table nearby.
“Now come stretch out with me and we’ll count crickets.”
“Crickets?” She laughed, surprised.
“Do we have crickets here?” he wondered as she slid onto the divan beside him. “You know, I’m not sure. We’ll have to ask a native.”
“Good luck finding one at this hour of the night,” she mused, yawning.
“You’re not sleepy?” he asked with mock surprise.
“Wine makes
me drowsy apparently,” she murmured, letting her head slide sideways onto his broad shoulder. That felt good, so she turned and slid her hand over his broad, hair-covered chest. The feel of his skin shocked her and her fingers stilled.
He pressed them closer. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m not afraid that you’ll try to have your way with me.”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “Okay.”
He turned slowly, so that she was suddenly on her back and he was leaning over her. But he didn’t make any aggressive moves. His hand went to her face. “I can’t see you any other way. Is it all right?” he asked softly.
“Yes. But there isn’t much to see,” she said sadly.
His big fingers, callused and warm, moved over her oval face, lingering on her long lashes, her straight nose, her bow of a mouth, her rounded chin. They slid lower. “You have a long neck,” he said.
“Like my mother.”
“And tiny ears,” he teased, tracing them.
“Like my grandmother.”
His hand slid lower, to the edge of the shirred bodice, but when she stiffened, it lifted, and moved to her waist, her flat stomach and down over one leg. “You’re not tall, are you?” he asked.
“I come up to your shoulder,” she reminded him. “But you’re tall.”
“Compared to you, I am, shrimp,” he teased.
“I’m five and a half feet tall. That’s not shrimpy.” She laughed at her own phrasing, a bubbly, uninhibited sound in the darkness.
“Not so much, perhaps.” He moved closer. His breath was scented with wine and coffee. His chiseled mouth brushed over her forehead, her closed eyelids. He moved it over her nose and down to linger, teasing, at her lips.
He heard her breathing change. His mouth opened, tempting, taunting, so that the contact just made her hungry for more.
While he tempted her mouth, his hand was smoothing up her rib cage. His fingers explored just under one firm breast in a touch that wasn’t intimate but felt like it.
The other went under her head and hesitated at the ponytail he found there. “I don’t like your hair bound up. Let it loose, Emma.”
“But—”
His mouth slid softly over hers. “Take it down, sweetheart,” he whispered into her parted lips.
That voice! It was sweeter than honey, drugging, deep and soft in the quiet of the patio. It was impossible not to be affected by it. She dragged the tie from her hair and let it fall like silk around her shoulders.
“It’s very long,” he mused, tracing its length as he lifted and separated the strands. “What color is it?”
“Pale blond,” she said, her voice a little unsteady.
“Pale blond.” His cheek nuzzled against hers. He caught a thick swath of her hair in his hand and tugged her face around. “I never liked blondes, until you came along...”
She felt his mouth settle on hers, felt the hunger and restraint in it. His hand tightened in her hair, angling her face so that he could press her mouth with his. While he kissed her with mounting passion, his other hand slid up her rib cage and right over her small, firm breast.
She wanted to protest. She wanted to stop him. But the wine and her own hunger tied her hands. She shivered with the pleasure his touch engendered in her untried body. She’d never been touched so blatantly, with such hunger.
He moved closer. His mouth touched and lifted, teasing hers as his hand moved up and then suddenly down, under the dress and her lightweight bra, right onto her soft flesh.
She arched helplessly at the pleasure that shot through her like fire. She gasped with the stark hunger it provoked. Her hands went into his thick black hair and she moaned.
“You like that?” he whispered. “You’ll like this more...”
As he spoke, his mouth slid down over her chin, her throat, her collarbone, under the fabric, right onto her bare breast. Before she could manage a protest, he had her breast in his mouth and he was teasing the nipple with his tongue, making it hard.
She cried out softly as she felt real passion for the first time in her life.
Connor found her responses puzzling. She accepted whatever he did to her, if reluctantly, but she didn’t respond like the experienced women he knew. It didn’t matter. He wanted her so badly that he was grateful for every acquiescence.
He rolled over, his body heavy on hers as his mouth lifted. He tugged down the bodice of her dress and the flimsy bra. His mouth found hers as he levered down, between her legs, his bare chest against her bare breasts.
Her nails bit into his back. She lifted up to him, whimpering a little at the unexpected shock of desire he provoked in her. Involuntarily, she tried to get even closer to the heavy body lying so close against hers. He was aroused. She’d never been close to an aroused man in her life, and she really should be protesting now, because he had her hip in one big hand and he was pushing her hard against the thrust of his body.
She shivered, clinging harder.
“Emma,” he groaned. His mouth ground down into hers as his body moved helpless on hers, rhythmic and arousing, against the layers of cloth that separated them.
He drew in a sharp breath. “It’s no good. We can’t have each other here. We’ll have to go inside.”
He got to his feet and drew her up with him. His face was flushed with desire, his body rigid with it. “Are you on birth control? If you’re not, it’s all right. I keep what I need in the drawer beside my bed.”
She panicked. He thought she was going to sleep with him. She didn’t know what to do. He was so hungry that he’d go through the roof when she refused; she could see it in his hard face.
Prevention. He was talking about prevention. Of course. He didn’t want children. She wanted a child with him, so badly. But it was impossible. He just wanted a few hours, not a lifetime. She had to think. What to do?
“Emma?” he asked harshly.
“I have...to stop by my room for a...a minute,” she stammered.
He relaxed just a little. “All right, then. Help me inside. I can get to the room without you.”
“Sure.”
She let go of his hand in the hall. “I’ll just be a minute,” she lied.
He pulled her to him and bent to kiss her hungrily. “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” he whispered.
“Okay,” she agreed.
He let her go and moved slowly down the hall toward his room. She went into hers and closed the door. When she heard his door close, she locked hers and ran into the bathroom. She put the lid on the toilet down and sat there, trembling, cursing herself for letting things go so far. He’d be furious. He’d probably fire her. She should have told him the truth, all of it, the first day she saw him after he was blinded. Now it was too late. She’d burned her bridges. He’d hate her forever for tonight, and she couldn’t blame him. She should never have let things go so far!
A few minutes passed. She heard a door open. There was a tap on her door. She thought she heard her name called. The tapping turned into a rap and then a hard banging. It was followed by some of the foulest language she’d ever heard, and she was grateful that Marie and Barnes had rooms on the other end of the house. Hopefully they couldn’t hear him, because they’d certainly guess what had happened.
Finally, he gave up and went away. His door slammed so hard that the floor shook. She relaxed. She’d gotten away. But at what cost?
She went to bed, guilt-ridden and shamed. She’d led him on. It was a cold, cruel thing to do. It was mostly the wine, but not completely. She loved him. He was the moon and stars to her. She didn’t want anything he had. She just wanted him. But after tonight, he’d hate her. She dreaded getting up the next morning. It was going to be horrible.
* * *
Horrible was a mild word for the arctic chill at the breakfast table. Connor b
arely said two words, and nothing to her.
“We’re going back to the lake house,” he said curtly. “Marie, call Brent. Tell him to get the caretakers back in tomorrow. Have them fuel the jet, Barnes.”
They went to get their tasks done, leaving her alone with Connor.
“I’m so sorry,” Emma began miserably.
“Pack up the laptop,” he interrupted her in a businesslike tone. “I’ve invited some people to the lake for a few days. I’m giving a party for the investors in my group. Marie will take care of the particulars, but you’ll be needed to take notes periodically.”
“Of course, sir,” she said quietly.
“Did you send those emails yesterday?”
“All of them. There were some queries that I couldn’t answer...”
“I’ll deal with them when we get home. Get packed.”
She hesitated, but only for a minute. “Yes, sir.”
It was a warm day, but she felt the chill all the way to her bones. He’d iced over. He probably thought she was playing hard to get, that she wanted something, that she was bartering her body. It wasn’t the truth, but those were the kind of women he was used to.
She wanted to tell him what she felt, why she’d drawn away from him. She wanted him to know how innocent she was. He probably wouldn’t have believed her if she’d told him. Anyway, he wasn’t disposed to listen to her at all. He’d made that clear. She went to her room and packed.
It was like the other time he’d held her and kissed her, one of the times he’d had migraines. He’d been furious for days afterward, and treated her badly. But this was worse. He wasn’t impatient or sarcastic. He simply ignored her. He treated her like a piece of office furniture. It hurt more than when he was furious.
* * *
One of the first guests to show up was Ariel Delong from Atlanta. She was the woman he’d taken out on the town. Emma had sent flowers and chocolates to her. But when Ariel walked in the door, Emma noticed something worse. She was the woman who’d called Connor in to eat the soufflé, the day Emma had talked to him on the beach. That was after he’d called her down in the speedboat. She prayed that Ariel wouldn’t recognize her voice. She’d phoned Connor’s house to see how he was after the accident, pretending to be another businessman’s secretary. Her South Texas accent was still noticeable, although she’d tried to hide it.