by Dani Collins
“No,” he said, but it could have been a lie. He had no idea. “Why? Would it be so disastrous if people knew?”
She gave him a disbelieving look. Persecution lurked in the shadows of her irises.
“No. I’m a Fogarty, after all. Dad did that all the time, you know. He would promise to talk to my teacher, so she wouldn’t treat me like a troublemaker just because Lyle was. Then a week later it would be, ‘Oh, no, I’m sorry, we didn’t get around to discussing that.’ Because he’d slept with her, of course. I want you to quit picking on Lyle, Sterling. That’s what I was supposed to accomplish on Saturday and here you’ve gone and sent him home! Nice job, Paige.”
He didn’t like that self-loathing in her tone. It sounded too much like regret.
“I’m not picking on him. I’m just not giving him the special treatment he’s used to. Don’t ask me to start.”
“Because I slept with you? Oh, believe me, I’m not under any illusions as to what that’ll earn me.” She dragged her hair off her eyes again and they seemed really shiny, which might have been the wind, but it might have been hurt.
He should have called. Now they didn’t even have their friendly banter.
She made a noise of dismissal and started to walk away.
“Hey,” he said, trying to halt her. He didn’t want her brother to keep coming between them. Or his mother. Maybe not even that soft, slippery dress. “I should have called. Not just about work.”
“It’s fine. It didn’t even happen.” She shrugged off his touch. “Why are you buying into the factory when you’re not staying to run it?”
“You’re shivering. Let’s talk in the office,” he waved her to start walking. “Want my vest?”
“I’m fine. I like the wind. It clears my head.” She started back the way she had come.
He paced alongside her, working up an explanation since, once again, he didn’t really know what he was doing. He’d had a number of frustrations riding him Sunday afternoon when he’d decided to take this step.
She glanced up at him, waiting for his answer. The wind pulled at her hair, her dress rippled to hide, then reveal, the shape of her breasts and the points the chill had drawn from them.
Beautiful, he thought, and wanted things from her. He felt like something was eating a hole inside him and tried to ignore it.
“The company is keeping up with competitors because there’s a certain prestige attached to the Roy name and because Dad and Grady made a good team.”
“That’s quite an admission.”
He shrugged. “No one denies your father sold the hell out of the product. My dad made sure it got out the door. Neither spent a penny they didn’t absolutely have to, so it worked to a point. But Grady’s cashing out and Dad’s not going to be here if he runs for Mayor.”
“Everyone is so convinced he’ll win. Makes you wonder.”
“We’re not buying votes,” he said with disgust. “But he has a lot of support. Hell, at this point it’s outright pressure and not just from Mom. He’ll win. And the company will need every advantage to avoid falling behind, so upgrades have to happen sooner rather than later.”
She searched his expression, needing more.
“And my parents could use some extra cash to play with if you come in with a higher figure than they’re expecting.”
She halted. “So you’ve bought into your father’s half? And changed your mind? You want to stay?”
Her tone held the same incredulity it would if she were asking, ‘You want gonorrhea?’ And he strongly suspected any desire on his part to stick around would make him as attractive in her eyes as he would be with a dose.
“No, but—” He didn’t feel the usual compulsion to get out, either. Actually, he felt a massive desire to plumb the potential in this company and was trying to ignore it.
He motioned for her to walk ahead of him through a narrow gap between lumber loads, so he could gather his thoughts. He was losing sight of his reasons for staying. He hadn’t intended to put on his father’s shoes, but it was amazing how much of the abhorrence he’d once felt at the thought of doing so had dissipated. He was enjoying living at Gran’s, fixing the house, making decisions here at the factory that produced tangible results. He felt significant in a way that just didn’t happen when he was a stranger ‘babysitting’ someone else’s company.
And there were things here in Liebe Falls he’d barely remembered, but that he had been missing the entire time he’d been gone, things that would give him a genuine sense of loss to leave again. Like the damp. It was humid in the Carolinas, but not in the same way. Who knew you could miss air thick with cool moisture that smelled like, well, it smelled like home. And nowhere else did the moss and ferns look quite the same brilliant green when the sunlight slanted on them.
Then there was Paige.
She waited on the far side of the loads, face turned up to the sun, eyes closed, kissable. He bet if he drew her back between the loads, she’d smell like that Chinook wind.
“You want to go for dinner tonight?” It came out of him before he’d fully thought it through.
“No.”
Ouch. That’s what you get for not calling, asshole.
She wore a scowl, but glanced at him the way women gazed at shoes they knew they couldn’t afford, but wanted anyway. Coveting.
“I have to work.” Her mouth pursed briefly in indecision before she slid him a glance. “I work with this bear who wants numbers, numbers, numbers.”
It was a dig, but a gentle one. It set them almost back to where they’d been before he’d slept with her and made him want to smile.
“Yeah? What’s his name? I’ll lean on him.” He pressed into his own toes, fractionally invading her space. “I’ll tell him to quit hassling you about your brother while I’m at it.”
He knew better than to bring up Lyle. Her expression lost all its softness, becoming stiff and blank.
“I’m cold. I’m going in.” The papers went back under her arm, practically into her armpit. She turned with a slight stumble and beelined toward the front entrance.
If she hadn’t been looking at him like he was the cherry on a sundae before he’d brought up her brother and killed it, he might not have thought her reaction so suspicious, but something was going on.
He needed to find out what.
Chapter Eighteen
Sterling showed up with pizza after everyone else had gone home. Her heart leapt as he carried the box to the shelf behind her.
“What’s this?”
“If you can’t come to dinner, dinner will come to you.” The blinds rattled and she turned to see him worming a finger through the blades so he could peek at the floor. “I wish Quinn’s office had a window.” A pause, then, “We need more light in the southeast corner.” He released the blinds.
She swiveled back to stare at the petty cash records, trying to remember what she’d been doing before he had walked through the door, but she was too tuned to his presence, her concentration shot. Sex, sex, don’t let him see what I’m doing and sex, were all she was capable of thinking.
“Like olives?” he asked.
“I’m not hungry,” she lied, even as the scent of chewy carbs and spicy pepperoni had her stomach clenching in anticipation. But she had refused his dinner invitation because she had this possible bomb in her audit to defuse.
She glanced back to see if her pretend lack of enthusiasm had had any effect. The sight of him made her entire body clench in anticipation. He wore the suit pants and white striped shirt from earlier today. His shoulders were a special gift from God, perfectly balanced and epitomizing strength. His long back narrowed at his belted waist, and his buttocks were firm and beautiful, making her remember how they’d felt, hard and powerful under her hands, flexing as he had thrust into her.
The feel of him pumping in her had been like a high, sweet note. She’d nearly vibrated with the sustained magic of that pleasure level, before the intensity had gathered and struck
like glass bursting against intense heat. Exploding. Shattering.
She wondered what might have happened if his mother hadn’t interrupted. Would they have gone again? She had come hard, and it hadn’t mattered. A greedy hunger had gripped her in those post climax moments. Desire for more. Keep going. Do it again.
She came back to herself as he turned, feeling herself blush. Really, everything about having him in this office was Not Good.
He had the pizza box open and had served it onto paper plates, the ones with “It’s a Celebration!” printed on them that his mother had used to serve cake two weeks ago.
“Just one slice?” he asked.
She was about to refuse, but was distracted by the way he surveyed her as he held out the plate, like he was charting points on a map, blazing a trail of heat as his gaze moved all the way to her toes then back up her revealed calves, into her lap, then conquering the elevation of her breasts.
Finally he got around to looking her in the eye.
She ignored the inferno churning inside her, and raised her brows. “Finished?”
He held her gaze, no apology, no averting in an attempt to deny.
Feeling as though he’d just claimed her in the name of Sterling Roy, she realized he figured he had a right to look at her like that.
She might have cried sexual harassment if she hadn’t just done the same to him.
Drawing a stuttering breath, she took the pizza and swung to set it on her desk.
With two slices for himself, he circled the desk and took the opposite chair. “This is nice, Sterling. Thank you,” he prompted.
Abashed, she murmured, “It is. Thank you. But it wasn’t necessary.”
“Yes, it was.”
Something in his tone made her bring her head up. Their gazes collided and she felt an immediate electric connection. Memory assaulted her, complete with a fluttering echo of physical pleasure. Forget versions. No edits necessary. It had been perfect.
He froze, pizza barely lifted from his plate, his tongue touching his bottom lip. “We’re not going to get much work done if we start thinking like that.”
“W-work?”
“I thought if I’m the reason you’re working late, I should help you.” He took a hearty bite. No messy trail of stringy cheese for him; he was perfect at everything, including blindsiding her.
She set down her plate. “You’re not— I don’t— Damn it, there’s always a catch when you’re nice.”
“What’s wrong with my helping?”
“You won’t do it right.” It was lame, but it was all she had. She moved her plate to the left, making a workspace for herself, unable to resist picking off an olive and nipping it from between her finger and thumb, savoring the salt. “When I work with anyone, it’s generally a third-year accounting student.”
“And when I work with accountants, they’re usually of your caliber, so I think we’ll be okay. I’m qualified for grunt work like checking invoice numbers, Paige. What’s the real problem? You’re not comfortable spending time together?”
“Are you asking if I’m afraid of you? No. I’m not,” she grumbled and searched for a ‘but’ that she could voice. Instead, her stupid brain began inventing advantages to letting him stay: clerical support, for one. There was a lot to do, not to mention it got pretty lonely plugging numbers in this office all by herself. Since it was after hours, for safety reasons she ought to have someone with her—
Oh, please. Listen to yourself.
She wanted to spend time with him. That was the problem. But she didn’t want him anywhere near her audit. What should she do?
Go home with him.
She couldn’t. She needed to get to the bottom of this first.
“Where do I start?” He leaned forward, trying to see what she had in front of her.
She redirected him with cross-checking for inventory variances, grunt work as he called it.
“Pretty low on the mentally stimulating scale,” he complained, after she explained the nature of the exercise. “Don’t you trust me with something more challenging?”
He had no idea. But he settled to work without further argument.
Reassured he wouldn’t stumble into an area of the audit where a real problem might show up—like, say, the possibility that her brother was robbing the company blind—she went back to the petty cash records she’d been checking.
It probably wasn’t true, she told herself, glancing up when she’d finished her pizza, making sure Sterling was engrossed in his reports before she uncovered the crumpled invoices she’d wanted to discuss with Lyle this morning. Stupid brother.
Not for the first time, she tried to imagine a use for a fuel pump when all the machinery in the building, including the battery-driven forklifts, were powered by electricity. Ironic that growing up listening to Lyle rattle on about carburetors and torque converters was the reason she had caught the fact he was creating purchase orders for parts that were not intended for company use.
They had to be for one of the car repair jobs he did on the side. Which wasn’t a problem on the surface. Many employees took advantage of the discounts offered to the company. Except all of them had paid for their purchases through petty cash.
Payroll deduction would make more sense. Paige made a note to ask Olinda to process them that way in the future then searched the petty cash records for Lyle’s payment. Again.
Nothing had turned up this afternoon, but maybe she’d been too busy dwelling on Sterling’s well-fueled pumps to pay proper attention.
God, he had nice hands. Long-fingered, smooth and capable, thorough in the way he marked a figure, then followed it across the page. He was so well-built for a desk jockey. The rolled up sleeves on his white shirt were snug enough on his upper arms to reveal the kind of bicep she wanted to feel flexing against her palm. The hollow of his wide shoulder looked just right for nuzzling the side of her face against. They’d been too frantic on Saturday for her to appreciate these finer details, but she—
“You’ve stopped working. Are you bored?” He didn’t look up.
“No.” It was tough to sound indignant with her voice all low and husky.
He lifted his head so she could read the memory in his hungry stare.
She swallowed and ducked her head, resisting the urge to press a regulating hand against her chest to slow her jumping heart.
“What are you working on?”
For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. Oh, yeah. Same thing she’d been working on all day: searching for any sign that indicated Lyle had paid for this pump.
“Nothing exciting,” she answered, annoyed with herself for letting him distract her. “Just confirming some things.” She began adding up the invoices. The first was small change, but it was the tip of the iceberg if the other dozen she’d pulled were just like it. She wouldn’t know until she’d confirmed the function of the other parts, but regardless of how much the theft amounted to, Sterling was going to fire Lyle.
If it was true.
She probably should have waited to work on it later, but she was compelled to dig for the truth so she would know what to tell Sterling before she slept with him again.
Her hand froze, suspended above the number pad on her keyboard.
“What kinds of things?” Sterling asked.
“Hmm?”
“What kinds of things are you confirming?”
The fact that she was going to sleep with him again. She was so stupid. Did he even want to?
Her insides clenched with an agonized fear of rejection.
He met her stare for three pulsing heartbeats, not moving, then said, “Do you have any idea how transparent you are? If that’s what you want, why are we here?”
Self-conscious shyness hit along with a rush of liquid honey feelings. “You have to quit interrupting me.” She dipped her head so she could scan her desktop, lost again, trying to remember where she was at.
He laughed, but it was a hoarse, tortured sound.
They were quiet for several minutes, in which she did nothing but stare at the pages in front of her. There was silence on his side of the desk too, until he muttered something about not being able to concentrate. Shifting, he slid the inventory records off his lap and onto the floor.
“Tell me how things are going. Last time we talked you’d found some errors. Anything new I should know about?”
Enough. Lyle’s invoices could wait. She tucked them into a file folder. “Not really,” she mumbled, realizing she’d taken too long to answer.
His thumb made a scraping sound as he rubbed the side of it against his jaw. “Sure about that?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t look at him, though.
He stood and she thought he was walking out on her, wasn’t sure if she was relieved or sorry. Then he checked the hall and closed the door. She decided she was sorry. This was impossible.
“Is Olinda still giving you trouble?”
Paige shrugged and straightened the file folder so its edge lined up with the edge of the desk. “Olinda has her own agenda. When she divorced Dad, she calculated a figure she thinks she’s entitled to receive from him. He makes monthly payments, but she thinks that once he cashes out his partnership, she’ll get a lump sum. This audit is a delay she can’t tolerate. I can’t do anything about that, though. I’m not about to compromise the audit to please her.”
“No?” He skitch-skitched his thumb against his shadowed jaw again. “What about for Lyle?”
He had his feet braced wide, made it seem very casual, but she knew a test when she heard one.
Tension crept into her bloodstream, making the chair she was using feel stiff and uncomfortable. She stood up. “Are you questioning my integrity? Because I’m insulted if you are.” She reached for a heavy computer binder and crushed the folder of invoices under it. “My ethics are rock-solid. They have to be, in this profession.”
“The minute Lyle comes into the conversation, you pucker up like a constipated librarian.”
“Lovely image.” She leafed through the binder, searching for the right dates, reminded herself she wasn’t going to work on this in front of Sterling, and closed it.