by Linda Cajio
“True.” He shut the door behind him. “Why don’t you have one?”
“I don’t rate.”
His eyebrows arched. “What do you mean, you don’t rate?”
Catherine took a deep breath. “My work load with research and development has been drastically reduced to twiddling my thumbs all day. It’s tough for a secretary to take dictation on that.”
“I see.” He paused. “You know, if you hadn’t gone off on a tangent, you might have persuaded enough of the board to your side.”
“Is this Corporate Strategy 101?” she asked.
“You need the lessons.” He sat down in the cast-off barrel chair in front of her desk, then glanced around. “Nice office.”
She grimaced. “It’s a dump.”
He stared at her, his gaze seeming to probe through her. She tried to keep her own gaze from wandering. Whatever was under his shirt didn’t matter to her. But looking straight into his eyes was sending shock waves along her nerve endings. The feel of his mouth on hers haunted her. She blessed the desk that separated them. It was an effective barrier—enough to allow her some semblance of control over her whirling emotions.
She forced herself to speak. “Why are you here, Miles?”
“Because I want some straight answers about the EPA testing. Is there something to worry about?”
She tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Byrne is drinking Maalox like it’s Perrier. I think there is something to worry about, and I think we’re all going to look like a horse’s backside because he’s stonewalling the media instead of giving them a direct answer.”
“Then we’re going to look like a horse’s backside,” she agreed. She glanced at his shirtfront, but still couldn’t tell what was underneath. Maybe he wore a Bart Simpson T-shirt. It tickled her to think that possibly emblazoned on Miles Kitteridge’s chest was the legend, “Underachiever and proud of it.”
“Why is there a paper bag by your desk?” he asked abruptly.
She glanced at the grocery sack she used to recycle her wastepaper. “My version of paper basketball.”
“It’s empty.”
“I’m a lousy shot.”
“I see.” He paused, then dropped a major bomb. “Who do you think this Earth Angel is?”
She never moved. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised at the question. But he didn’t know, so she might as well enjoy herself. Smothering a grin, she shrugged casually. “Who knows? A nut, like you said.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I think it’s someone who works here.”
“Here?” Her voice squeaked.
He nodded. “Here at Wagner. Earth Angel might be a nut, but I have a feeling he or she is a knowledgeable nut.”
Catherine waved her hand in dismissal. She’d better get him looking in another direction. “Personally, I think it’s the Green Earthers,” she said, naming the international environmental group. It was the truth in a way, since she was a member. “They watch Wagner all the time. We’ve been a target of theirs for years.”
“Maybe.” He was silent for a moment. “I also came to apologize for last night. What did I do?”
A million things, she thought. And all of them to her body. “You did nothing. Why are you apologizing?”
“Because you walked out.” He chuckled. “By the way, you did it with great discretion. I don’t think my guests even knew you were angry.”
“I wouldn’t care if they did.”
“I expect not. So are you going to give me a straight answer … or am I to assume the kiss was just too much for you?”
“I nearly swooned, Miles,” she said, grabbing onto the banter. “I just couldn’t be in the same room with you any longer. Otherwise I would have been shamelessly throwing myself at you. Happy now?”
“Thrilled to my toes.” He continued gazing at her, clearly waiting for the real answer.
The real answer was that their values were poles apart, and that would always hinder any friendliness between them. She knew Miles would never understand why the almighty dollar didn’t mean so much to her, and it wasn’t worth the effort to tell him.
She shrugged instead. “My grandfather’s things brought back a lot of memories. I was upset.”
He smiled. “That wasn’t it. You and Allan fought for years.”
“Maybe I was regretting them,” she said, scowling at him. “Not everyone is as coldhearted as you.”
“Then why don’t you try to warm me?”
She barely suppressed a gasp at the erotic images his words and husky voice inspired. He had ruined her life once, though. She was not about to be tempted into ruining it again. Besides, his heart was a lost cause.
“Thank you, but no.” She rose from her chair. “I have to go, Miles, so could we end this now?”
He didn’t move. “I noticed that you didn’t bring up the missing codicil today. Why not?”
“Were you obsessed with the Twenty Questions game when you were a kid?” she asked, exasperated with him.
“No. Why?”
“Because you keep asking questions! And I didn’t bring the codicil up because they know about it already. So why didn’t you mention it, if you thought I was hiding it?”
“Because I didn’t know if you were. Since it wasn’t in Allan’s bank things, what will you do? Oops, another question. I beg your pardon.”
“Keep searching,” she answered anyway. She rubbed her forehead, feeling the headache that had come with her lack of sleep growing fiercer. “Look, I’m sorry about the question thing. I really have to go, Miles. I have several appointments this morning …”
He rose from the chair. Finally. “And I still have a bank to run.”
She hurried around her desk to the door, the headache almost vanishing in her eagerness to have him gone. As she passed him, he took her arm.
She stilled.
“I’d like to make up for dinner last night,” he said.
She couldn’t look at him. She was afraid to. Every nerve in her body was screaming for her to look, while every shred of common sense was telling her no. The latter was winning out … so far.
But his hand was warm and firm on her arm, and his fingers held more strength than she’d expected. His body was only inches away. One slight movement on her part and she would be against him. The sharp clean scent of him surrounded her, spinning her senses into a cyclone.
“I’d also like to talk to you more about Allan’s codicil,” he went on. “And this morning’s meeting. How about if I pick you up at eight?”
“Eight?” she repeated, her voice hoarse. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of his shirtfront. Unable to resist, she tilted her head to get a better look.
“Nine?” he asked.
“For what?”
“Dinner. Just the two of us this time. I promise.”
Mesmerized, she stared at his chest. The dark area was definitely no Bart Simpson T-shirt. But she still couldn’t tell if the chest hair was silky like Alec Baldwin’s, or curly like Tom Selleck’s.
“Catherine, you haven’t answered me.”
“What?” she said, blinking. She looked up, and that was her mistake.
She was caught in a sensual gaze that stripped away every shred of hidden emotion. His mouth was a bare inch away. Awareness thundered through her. She knew it showed in her face, but she couldn’t control her reaction.
Miles muttered her name and pulled her to him, his mouth capturing hers in a deep kiss. Her control shattered, and she opened to him, entwining her tongue with his. He let go of her arm and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Every inch of her was finally and satisfyingly against him. Her blood pulsed at the feel of his hard body. Desire long suppressed swirled inside her. She wound her arms around his shoulders, her fingers digging into his jacket.
His tongue teased and tortured her, easing away and surging back over and over again, until she was moaning helplessly. She tasted and teased and tortured him back in feminine re
payment. Everything swept through her in seven different directions all at once. She knew no other man would ever tie her up and turn her inside out with one kiss the way Miles did.
Unconsciously, she smoothed her hand down his chest, groaning at the feel of silk and hard muscles. And chest hair. She had never been so fascinated with what was under a man’s shirt before, and she was gratified it was everything her fantasy wanted it to be.
Miles finally lifted his head. He buried his face in her hair, his breath hot against her ear.
She moaned into his chest. Some corner of her mind was trying to warn her about something, but the waves of desire coursing through her washed the voice away.
“Catherine,” he whispered, his hands caressing her back.
“Miles.” His name was as sensuous as the rest of him.
“Catherine.”
She shivered and rubbed her hands against his shirtfront. Silky all the way.
He stepped back from her.
Disoriented, she opened her eyes. He’d left her drained and wanting.
He smiled a knowing smile. “It’s my turn to make a grand exit. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
He walked out of her office before she could blink.
As soon as the door shut behind him, everything came crashing down. Catherine cursed her shameful reaction to him … and his ego. Like hell, she’d meet him at eight that night.
Like hell.
Three
“Is there really a codicil?”
Miles watched his grandmother nibble on a paté sandwich before replying. He had taken her to afternoon tea at the elegant Barrymore Room atop the Bellevue for some answers to his growing questions. He had quite of few where Catherine was concerned.
Lettice finally set down the sandwich. “Do you know that your cousin Rick did not once take me to afternoon tea at the Ritz in London when I was there a few months ago? We went to Madame Toussaud’s instead.”
“Did you give him hell for being negligent?” Miles asked, amused by her aggrieved tone.
“Better than that,” Lettice said. She smiled in satisfaction. “I married him off.”
“And if I believe that, you’ve got a bridge to sell me, right?” Miles said, laughing. He’d heard family grumblings for a year or so about his grandmother meddling in his cousins’ private lives. Naturally, she’d never get away with it with him. “Now what about this codicil of Allan’s? I wanted to ask you last night, but you left shortly after Catherine did.”
“That’s what you get for that mess of a dinner, Miles.”
“Grandmother,” he prompted.
“Allan showed the codicil to me months ago.” She sipped her tea. “He’d had it drawn up by a new lawyer. He said his own were in cahoots with Byrne.”
“Can you remember who the lawyer was?”
She shook her head. “That name eludes me. Catherine’s been after me to remember, and I’ve racked my brains with no luck. Are you going to help her find the codicil? She can save Wagner Oil with it.”
“Knowing the family, they would contest it.”
“You mean Byrne. But there’s enough of them who wouldn’t want the scandal. They would stop Byrne.” She arched her eyebrows. “I see you already had one scandal this morning.”
Miles grimaced. The media were having a field day with the company’s “No comment.” “Catherine couldn’t get them to see reason. Neither could I.”
Lettice poured more tea into her cup. “You like Catherine.”
He grinned, remembering the kiss in her office … and the results. He still didn’t know how he’d kept his control. “I’m taking her to dinner tonight.”
“How surprising,” Lettice murmured. “It’ll make up for last night’s fiasco.”
He frowned. Something in his grandmother’s expression bothered him. Did she know about the kiss in the garage? How could she? He couldn’t see Catherine telling her.
“So where are you taking her?” Lettice asked.
“A very intimate restaurant.” He smiled, anticipation building inside him. This time, the evening would be perfect. He had seen to that. “She’ll love it,” he added.
“I am pleased.”
It sounded like Lettice’s seal of approval, Miles thought in amusement.
“You would hardly know Devlin is your twin,” she murmured.
Miles shrugged. “Dev does as he pleases. So do I. What brought him up, anyway?”
“A thought.” Lettice shrugged, then changed the subject. “You know, if you do help Catherine find the codicil, she would be grateful. Very grateful.”
Miles steepled his fingers together. His grandmother just might be on to something.
She was making the worst mistake in her life. Maybe.
Catherine gazed into the full-length mirror and grinned at her reflection. She knew she shouldn’t be going out with Miles. But it was too prime an opportunity to resist, and she was glad she’d realized that. Miles was used to elegant women, so she had a pretty good idea what the date would be like.
She had just ensured he wouldn’t get it.
In fact, she’d guaranteed that Miles would never ask her out again. Much better than not showing up in the first place, she decided, and mentally patted herself on the back for her shrewdness.
Still, Miles was the most dangerous man she’d ever encountered. He seemed to have a control over her body that she just couldn’t shake. And if he found out about Earth Angel …
Catherine shuddered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
The doorbell to her Center City town house rang. A regiment of butterflies immediately invaded the pit of her stomach. She grabbed the hair spritzer and sprayed it on her hair, scrunching up the strands in a last-minute lift. The image in the mirror restored her confidence in handling Miles.
“What the heck,” she said out loud. “You only live once, so it might as well be on the wild side. And I can’t wait to see his face.”
The door had no sooner opened than Miles felt all his breath whoosh out of his lungs.
Catherine was … not the Catherine he’d been expecting. She was dressed in a black leather mini and an off-the-shoulder blue knit top that clung to her torso. No bra, he thought as shock shot through him. The black patterned stockings and very high heels had his chest squeezing in an invisible vise. She’s topped her outfit off with clunky bead jewelry and a hairdo that was artfully tangled in windblown fashion. He vaguely remembered hearing the term “big hair” somewhere. It certainly applied here. Her makeup was heavier than he’d ever seen before, and she’d done something to emphasize one eye.
The whole effect, rather than being displeasing, was extremely sexy. But this was all wrong for the evening he’d planned. La Fourchette was definitely out. She’d never get past the maitre d’. He made an immediate mental change of plans, not wanting to embarrass her.
“Miles, come in,” she said, smiling.
“Thank you.” From somewhere he managed to find enough air to speak. His heart was thumping painfully, and he dimly wondered if he was having a heart attack. He’d always had a feeling Catherine would kill him. “You look gorgeous.”
For some reason annoyance flitted over her face. “I’ll just get my jacket,” she said, and turned toward the living room.
His feet automatically followed, as if he were under a spell. Before he knew it, he was in the middle of the room.
What the decor said about Catherine was an eye-opener. He’d been expecting … Actually, he didn’t know what he’d been expecting. But to his delight, the room was tastefully furnished in 1920s art deco, with a Chinese carpet and gilt-trimmed torchère lamps. The furniture consisted of intricately inlaid wood veneer tables and tapestry-upholstered chairs. Movie posters hung from the walls, and he sensed they were originals.
“Ready,” she said, breaking into his reverie.
Her black leather jacket matched her black leather skirt, and made him think she’d look right at home on the back of a motorcycle.
“Great,” he said, without blinking. “Shall we go?”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Good question, he thought. “It’s a surprise.”
It was a surprise all right, Catherine acknowledged, looking down at the steam table of gourmet fast food.
“The beef stir-fry is terrific,” Miles said as he helped himself to spinach salad. “So’s the homemade pasta.”
Never would she have thought dinner would be at Eden’s, a self-service restaurant. She should have known, though. He hadn’t even faltered over her outfit. He actually thought she looked gorgeous. Wonderful. Somehow, he was still in control of the evening, and she had no idea what had gone wrong.
The glorified cafeteria was crowded with yuppies getting a meal before heading home or before going out for the evening. She had to admit that neither Miles, in his business suit, nor she looked out of place. He stayed by her side as they went through the line, just close enough to keep her awareness on edge.
“Do you know that Styrofoam plate your salad is on will be around for at least a hundred years?” she asked as they slid their trays along the counter.
“Do they keep reusing it?” he asked in return.
“No!” she exclaimed, astonished at his naiveté.
“Good. I couldn’t imagine how they’d get the Italian dressing off. That stuff would eat through concrete. By the way, the Italian dressing is the pits.”
She shook her head. “Miles, it doesn’t biodegrade.”
“I know it doesn’t. I just said so.”
“Not the dressing. The plate.”
He looked down at it. “Oh.”
“Come on,” she said, moving ahead. Even if she was a bit disgruntled, the food smelled exotic and wonderful, and she was starving. “You’re one heck of a date, Miles Kitteridge.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, laughter in his voice.
Later, she had to admit dinner was delicious. But the casual atmosphere of the restaurant made her relax with him. Miles surprised her by keeping the conversation light, not touching on business or what had happened that morning. They talked about their likes and dislikes, discovering they both preferred hamburgers with no cheese, swimming for exercise, and Harry Connick, Jr. They both had no understanding of art and hated sauces on anything. Miles claimed they were traitors to their sophisticated upbringing.