by Andre, Bella
“You’re welcome. Thanks for being my date tonight.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We must be the two most polite people on earth.”
Chandler laughed. They stared at each other for a few moments. “Well, I guess we should call it a night.”
“Yes, I guess we should.” He escorted her towards the door, stopping to compliment the maitre d’ on the service, and then guided her into the silver Jaguar. Chandler leaned back into the seat as Logan weaved his way through the city traffic with the ease of an expert. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, deciding not to question him when he jumped on the Henry Hudson Parkway and sped off into the night. It was a while before he reached the outskirts of the city and pulled into a dead end road.
“This isn’t my apartment.”
“No,” Logan agreed. “It’s not.” She turned to look at him when he cut the engine. “I’d like to show you something.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “I think I’ve heard that line before.”
Logan chuckled. “I’m sure you have. Please be assured if I had a different intention my approach would be flawless.”
Her lips twitched. “The male ego is incredible.”
“I can offer you a killer cognac or a hot cappuccino.”
“Sold.”
The street was quiet as they walked up the pathway. Chandler squinted in the darkness, but only caught an impression of a stark simplicity to the features of the house. The three story modern structure seemed to thrust toward the sky, its roof hooking low over the front, sandwiched between two large picture windows. As Logan led her through the heavily carved door, the raw power and elegance that permeated the room struck her.
The color scheme was a relaxing blend of cream and sand tones, set off by soft leather and warm teak. A variety of cactus plants were carefully scattered about. Chandler walked past the large modern marble fireplace and peered up the wide spiral staircase leading to the upstairs.
“Your home is lovely, Logan.” She took in the high ceilings and a massive wall of carved glass. She pictured how the room would look bathed in the light of the morning sun.
“Thank you.” He watched in amusement as she studied the pile of books by his desk, neatly alphabetized by author. “I could have bought one of those fancy condos, but somehow the moment I found this place I knew it was home.” He handed her a heavily cut glass. “Here, start with a little of this, then I’ll put on espresso. It’s a Godiva cordial.”
“Hmmm, chocolate.” She sipped in pleasure. “Do you mind the commute to Manhattan?”
“Not really. I have an apartment close to the office if I need to stay overnight. The quiet and privacy is worth the drive in.”
“I know what you mean. I grew up in the city and always dreamed of moving upstate. Most of my childhood was spent in my father’s office. As luxurious as it was, somehow I think a cottage in the mountains is what I would like my children to remember.”
“Not million dollar business deals.”
She nodded. “I’m sure you’d disagree.”
“Don’t you think I want my children to have it better than I did? They’ll have a choice whether or not to enter the corporate world. Besides, I always wanted to try horseback riding.”
A giggle escaped her lips. “Somehow the image doesn’t fit.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Because you’d have a hell of a time accepting the horse as boss—you wouldn’t be in control.”
His voice dropped to a low growl. “I don’t have a problem relinquishing control if the reward is worth it.”
Sexual tension lit up the room. She gulped her chocolate cordial and gasped as the liquid slid down her throat. She searched wildly for something neutral to say to break the silence. “Didn’t you want to show me something?”
Logan smiled lazily. “Are you ready to see it?”
Chandler wondered if the alcohol made her hear things differently. There seemed to be a sexual undertone to everything he said. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine at dinner. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Logan loosened his tie, moving with slow, deliberate motions. The silky material slid through his fingers and gleamed against his tanned hands. The lump in her throat grew. He pulled the tie off and threw it over the back of the chair, never taking his eyes from her face. Easing out of his sports jacket, he tossed it over the chair to join the tie.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.
He stood in front of her in casual dress slacks that emphasized muscled thighs and lean hips. She couldn’t stop her gaze from roving over him, overwhelmed by the sheer power of the male figure before her. She opened her mouth to halt this strip tease that took her very breath away, but his hands moved toward the buttons of his crisp white shirt and slipped them from the buttonholes one at a time. He revealed a line of curling dark hair. Her thoughts turned to wicked, sexual fantasies of popping the rest of the buttons in one sweep, ravishing him on the floor, then pulling off the rest of his clothes by using her teeth. And the things she could do with his belt—
His fingers stopped on the third button.
“It’s in the bedroom.”
She managed a strangled squeak. “Bedroom?”
“Yes.” He paused. “Do you want me to go get it?”
“Get what?”
“The thing I wanted to show you.”
She cursed herself the moment her gaze dropped. She hurriedly glanced away. “Yes, that would be fine. Do you want me to come with you?”
One black brow shot up. “Do you want to come with me to the bedroom?”
Chandler reached up to push back her hair. “No, no, I’ll wait here.” With a relieved sigh she watched him turn and walk up the stairs. She sank into the deep folds of the sofa and groaned. Why did Logan Grant always turn her into a stuttering idiot? The man constantly made her look foolish and she had no other excuse except for her overactive hormones. Why was she on guard with him? Because he declared she would be in his bed one day?
Would that be so terrible?
She rested her head back on the plush leather sofa and studied the ceiling. Laura’s words spun through her mind, already foggy from the alcohol. If a man met the right woman, anything was possible.
Was he the right man for her? His kisses made her body burn for more. His quick wit and dry humor challenged her mind—she liked that. And, when he’d talked about his mother she ached to hold him and take away his pain. Were her emotions all caught up with lust, or could there be something more? Something like love—
Chandler’s eyes widened. Love? No, she couldn’t be in love with Logan Grant. She needed someone she could trust and depend on. Someone who could love her in the same way she loved him.
Like Richard Thorne.
Obviously Richard was the type of man to build a future with. Unlike Logan, he worked in the business world but was not controlled by the culture.
Or was he?
She shifted as all of her thoughts finally took root. Something glimmered in those chestnut eyes—something she couldn’t seem to trust. Staring at the ceiling, the most disappointing revelation came to her—the truth of her feelings.
She would never love a man like Richard Thorne. She was falling in love with Logan.
Chandler shivered with a small sliver of pure, unbridled fear. Could a man who always needed to be in control let go and allow himself to love? Did she really want to take a chance on someone who may never be able to give her what she needed? At least she was happy with her life now. She had peace and stability. She had work. She had friends and students she cared about. She had—
She had no one to come home to at night or wake up with in the morning. She had no one to make her body burn and her heart sing. When Logan took her in his arms she felt like she could fly. Was that wrong?
Maybe she needed to take a chance on life. On Logan.
Logan walked back into the room. He propped a large
, flat package up on the thick beige carpeting and pulled off the wrapping. The image he revealed made her gasp with pleasure.
It was a painting. Her senses were assaulted by the stark beauty it depicted. An ancient castle rose above the earth, surrounded by rich gardens of flowers that climbed up the walls in an almost desperate attempt to mask it. Gaping windows peeked through wildly clinging leaves, finally breaking free to rise into the sky. The old broken castle stones told a story of time. Struck by the sense of history, Chandler wondered how many wars the castle had stood through, how many births, how much bloodshed or laughter had taken place within its walls.
“What country?”
“Spain. It’s one of the oldest castles still intact. I spotted it in a gallery and knew I had to have it.”
“I didn’t know you collected art.”
“I don’t. I was meeting with a client at the Metropolitan and he showed it to me. He didn’t want to sell but I convinced him.”
Chandler blinked. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art? How on earth did you manage that?”
He studied the painting with an odd longing—as if he craved something beautiful and peaceful. When he finally spoke, a tinge of weariness leaked through. “Everything has a price, Chandler.” Her heart squeezed. There was so much more within his comment, but he seemed to realize he’d already confessed too much. They stared at the painting together for a while, not speaking. “I was going to hang it over the fireplace.”
She nodded. “It’s stunning.” He studied her face, and nerves tightened again in her belly. Chandler brought the glass to her lips and found it empty. He hid a smile as he carefully re-wrapped the painting and poured her another glass.
“Be careful with this stuff, sweetheart. It’s potent.”
“I’m fine.” She watched him from under her lashes. He filled another glass for himself and walked over to a leather reclining chair, rubbing his temple. A slight frown creased his brow.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked.
He waved his hand in the air. “I had a long day. Tommy told me one of my executives has to go before we complete the deal. He screwed up and cost us money. We can’t afford any other mistakes.”
“Who?”
“Jim Chrisetta.”
She sat up. “Jimmy? Oh, Logan, you can’t fire him. His wife's expecting a baby. Didn’t he just get a promotion a few months ago?”
He looked at her in surprise. “How did you know? Wait, don’t tell me, you had a heart to heart chat about his stress.”
“Very funny.”
“The promotion made this whole damn thing complicated. He did so well in his last position, so I moved him to management. Now those department’s figures are down from last quarter. I have no choice.”
“Of course you have a choice. Jimmy told me he’s been under a lot of pressure with this promotion. He works around the clock and never gets to see his family anymore. You gave him too much responsibility. Management doesn’t suit him.”
Logan shook his head. “We had a serious discussion before the promotion, and he knew what the job entailed. His old position is already filled. Besides, Tommy was insistent.”
Chandler crossed her arms in front of her. “You own the company. Jimmy doesn’t deserve to be fired because he thought he could handle something and made a mistake. This will crush his spirit. You can’t fire him.”
“Sweetheart, it’s business. I can’t get emotional.”
Her eyes grew sad. “I’ve heard that explanation before,” she said. “’So sorry a person has to get hurt in the pursuit for money and glory, Chandler. It’s all for the good of the company, Chandler.’”
His face hardened to stone. “I’m not your father,” he stated coldly.
“No,” she agreed. “But you are a businessman, aren’t you?”
The challenge simmered in the air. She watched him struggle with his temper. He held himself rigid and still in his chair as he fought for control. A surge of adrenaline ran through her. Dizzy from the alcohol, angry at his logic, she recognized the driving need to make him lose his temper. As he pulled himself together, she felt a flash of disappointment she couldn’t mask. She stood up and stumbled. “I’d like to go home.”
“Sulking?”
She sputtered in indignation. “Sulking?! I am not sulking. I think this conversation is over, and I want you to take me home.”
“This conversation is not going the way you want,” he corrected patiently, “and that is why you want to go home. I refuse to let you throw me in league with your father, even though I’ve never met him. Maybe I’d understand better if you tell me what happened between you and him.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She shifted her feet for better balance.
“Okay, if you don’t want to talk about your father--or the reason you left his company--can you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Can you help me get rid of this headache?”
She studied him with suspicion. He massaged his temple, seemingly annoyed he’d be bothered by pain. He looked harmless enough, but Chandler knew him well. His admission could be part of his master plan to get her into bed. “You have a headache?”
“Yeah. It’s been pounding at the back of my head all day. I’m afraid it’ll turn into a migraine.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t have these health problems if you didn’t fire Jimmy.” He glowered at her. After a few moments she realized he was serious. “You really do have a bad headache, don’t you?”
“No, it’s all in my master plan to get you in bed.” She bit her lip. “Yes, I really have a headache. Didn’t you say something in class about pressure points?”
“Yes.” She walked over and set to work. “We need to switch positions. I’m going to sit in the chair and you’re going to sit, legs outstretched on the floor with the back of your head between my knees.”
“I like this kind of therapy.”
He ignored the look she gave him and did as he was told. Chandler leaned over to position his shoulders. Her hair fell forward and brushed against him. He let out his breath in a hiss and jumped.
“Are you okay?”
He muttered something she couldn’t catch. “Fine. I just hope I know what I’ve gotten myself into.”
“Relax. Take some of those deep cleansing breaths I’ve taught you.”
His shoulders rose as he drew air deeply into his lungs. The heat of his skin burned against her palms and made the thin fabric of his shirt a flimsy barrier. Slowly, the muscles in his shoulders started to unclench. She kept her voice low and soothing. “Focus on your breath. Feel the air being drawn in and out, letting your belly expand like a balloon. Allow your muscles to relax while all thoughts scatter away.” Her palms skated lightly over his shoulders and down his upper arms. She kept her tone even and drew him into a hypnotic state.
She pressed her thumbs into the back of his shoulder blades and massaged the muscles. Resistance met each stroke, but she eased her fingers back and forth until he responded to her touch. As she spoke, she worked each muscle in his shoulders and upper back, enjoying the sleek feel of his body. Hard muscles rippled beneath her palms. His steady breath whispered through his lips.
Chandler leaned over the edge of the chair. Her fingers traveled up the nape of his neck to his scalp. Dark, crisp strands of hair clung to each fingertip as she massaged his scalp with gentle kneading motions. She turned him to sit and face her as she lingered at his temples and pressed. She caressed his hairline and forehead, smoothed down the line of his brow, and explored the carved features of his face.
A groan escaped his lips as his head bobbed closer to her breasts. “I see why this technique is considered dangerous. I’m your helpless victim.”
Chandler smiled and pulled at his ears, moving her thumbs in small circles around the sensitive flesh. “Is some of the pressure lifting?”
“Yeah. Most of it was in my right shoulder.”
“Hmmm, you have a nice knot
there. Stretch out on the floor face down.” She moved from the chair to straddle his back as she probed the spot. “Focus your breath on the area while I work on it a little more.”
She kneaded the muscles but still felt resistance. Concentrated on relieving his pain, she slipped her hands beneath his shirt and continued the massage. She squeezed and released, letting her hands glide over his bare skin. Muscles jumped beneath her touch as she explored the hard body before her. It felt like steel sheathed in satin.
Electrical currents raced through her. Suddenly, she realized Logan’s breathing had turned ragged. His muscles stilled beneath her hands. She stopped and dug her nails into his shoulder as the swirling tension enveloped the room.
She became aware of their positions. Bent forward, her hair fell over his left shoulder and brushed against the bare skin at his neck. Her thighs shifted and rubbed against him as she massaged him. Her nipples hardened against the thin silk of her dress, begging to be touched.
He suddenly rolled onto his back, leaving her still sitting on his torso. His shirt gaped open and revealed his upper shoulders to her hungry gaze. Her legs were spread wide as she straddled him, and one of his hands rested on her upper thigh for support. Those five fingers burned into her skin as he squeezed lightly.
“Chandler?”
His husky question made her heart race. He seemed to be fighting for control. She knew all she had to do was pull away and proclaim the evening over; she’d be safe for another night.
Chandler decided she was tired of being safe.
Her fingers glided over his face and neck in a caress. She gave in to the pleasure of freely touching him, glorying in his strength and suppleness as a woman now, not as a teacher.
A hiss of air escaped his lips when he realized she wasn’t running away. She lay sprawled across the heavy weight of his thighs and looked him straight in the eye.
“You’re not running.” He pressed his thumb gently against her mouth. Waiting for her response.
“I can’t,” she said simply. “You win.”
She watched the emotions flicker over his face, partly surprised that she spotted no gleam of triumph for his victory. In fact, a slight frown marred his brow. With a muttered curse, and one rapid motion, she was on her back, his mouth covering hers. Chandler forgot every thought she ever had except the way Logan Grant bestowed pleasure.