by Carly Carson
His gaze met hers and she flushed.
He flashed her the ghost of a wink.
"Don’t look so worried," he said. "We’ll be good together."
"Good together?" What did that mean?
His eyes narrowed. "Nothing personal. This is a job, nothing more. It's important for you to accept that fact." He gestured toward the door. "Let's go get the paperwork done."
Annoyed that she'd added a personal element to the interview, and further annoyed that he thought she might pursue him romantically, she followed him out to his assistant's desk.
"Rosie," he said, "please take Ms. Thompson down to HR. Tell Felipe to be ready to drive her home in about an hour so she can pack a bag and then come back here to meet me. We’ll ride to the airport together."
Rosie swiveled toward him in her chair. "Yes, sir, Mr. Winter, I'll get right on it. But your pilot, Jack, called and said to tell you a storm is comin' in. If you can leave a couple hours earlier, he thinks that would be good."
Logan paused. "Amanda, is it all right with you to postpone the visit to HR until Friday? We're only taking an overnight trip."
"Of course." The way her head was spinning, all she really wanted was a few minutes out of his overwhelming presence so she could collect her thoughts.
"Thank you." He turned back to Rosie. "Ask Felipe to pick up Ms. Thompson immediately, and take her home to pack a bag. Then call Jack and tell him we'll be at the airport at three."
"Okay." Rosie had her head down as she concentrated on taking notes.
"Amanda." Logan nodded at her. "I'll need to work on the plane, but we can discuss your duties in more detail when we get to the hotel."
He took two strides toward his office and turned back once more.
"Oh, and Rosie, call the agency and tell them I’ve filled the position."
"Your next interview is waiting." Rosie pointed to a voluptuous redhead sitting in front of the windows. Her long legs were crossed, and slanted sideways to show off their form and length. Amanda understood instantly what Rosie had meant about women dressing provocatively to get the job. The woman's mini skirt barely covered her butt, and her shirt was open almost to the navel.
Logan glanced at the woman. "Cancel all the other interviews," he said to Rosie. But he stopped to watch as the redhead strutted across the expanse of gray carpet in response to Rosie's summons.
The elevator appeared silently and swooped her away. Logan disappeared into his office.
"Miu miu skirt." Rosie sighed. "Jimmy Choos."
"Didn't get her the job," Amanda pointed out.
"No," Rosie agreed. "But you saw the way he was lookin' at her. Remember what I said about your clothes when you go home to pack."
Amanda laughed. "I really don't think I can play the femme fatale." But her fingers crept to the button closing her blouse firmly at her neck. Maybe she could loosen up a little. She didn't date much because she'd always had to work hard, not only to help her mother financially, but also to help with the care for her younger sister. When she'd moved to Philadelphia to get her MBA, she'd also worked part-time in the school library. Full-time studies and a part-time job kept her too busy to focus on being sexy. That kind of behavior was for women more interested in a marriage license than a career. At least, that's what she told herself.
She got asked out enough to keep her ego in relatively good shape, but she preferred to socialize in small groups of friends. That way, she didn't have to worry about some individual guy getting too attentive. Even those group outings had to be limited, as she didn't have the funds for a big entertainment budget.
Yet here she was, after only a few minutes in the company of Logan Winter, wondering if she'd missed out on a big part of the fun in life. Maybe she could take a lesson from that redhead and learn how to be a bit sexier. Not to attract Logan, of course, because she was going to be working for him. But there were plenty of other men in the world.
"You want the job?" Rosie pointed a red marker at her, drawing her back to the here and now.
"I need this job," Amanda said firmly. She had a sudden urge to confide in this cheerful elf. Rosie seemed straightforward, friendly, and helpful. "I have a sister who's really sick," Amanda said, the words slipping out. "I have to support her and my mother. So this job is really important."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Rosie leaned forward, her eyes going even rounder in sympathy. "You want to talk about it?"
"No," Amanda said. Her fingers worried the button, as if it could attach her firmly to the job. Logan wouldn't renege on the job offer if she were too uptight for his tastes, would he? That would be ridiculous. It wasn't like he was marrying her.
"Okay." Rosie interrupted her thoughts. "I'm here if you ever need a listener."
"Thanks, Rosie. My sister has a lung disease." The words spilled out of Amanda, without her permission. "She's going to Denver to stay in a hospital there that specializes in lung issues. My mother needs to go with her."
"Of course." Rosie fixed her gaze on Amanda. "You need to do whatever it takes to help them. I get it."
"Yes." Amanda's fingers slipped the button out of its hole. She breathed a little easier. "I'll take any tips you've got."
Rosie tilted her head. "Keep goin' with those buttons. He likes his women hot and sexy."
Amanda stiffened. "I am not going to be 'his woman'."
"Course not." Rosie laughed, as if to say that idea was completely ridiculous. "But you know what I mean. Other women don't mind flirtin' and showin' their sexy side. He likes that."
"Are we back to the 'take off your blouse' line?" Amanda tried to sound amused. But the reality was, she'd had a strong urge to start removing her clothes while in Logan Winter's office. She hated to think she was just like all the other women who melted in his presence.
Rosie shrugged. "Hey, just tryin' to help. Clothes are my thing, ya know?" She gestured to her outfit.
"Thanks, Rosie. I appreciate it. But I think I already have the job."
"Hey, congrats!" Rosie beamed at her. "That was quick work."
"I didn't have to get naked either." Amanda smiled with relief. She liked Rosie, and she'd need a friend now that she was going to be working here.
"You will," Rosie muttered as she picked up the blinking phone.
Amanda decided to pretend she hadn't heard that. She feared it was too close to the truth.
Chapter 2
"This is my hotel room," Amanda said. She frowned at her new boss, who stood sideways to her, his broad shoulder propped against the cream and gold striped wallpaper lining the penthouse corridor in Chicago's Dover Hotel.
"It’s a suite," Logan said, his deep voice feathering over the back of her neck.
She fought back a shiver. She should have worn something more protective. Kevlar. A burka.
"Great." Amanda averted her eyes from his shoulders and jabbed the key card in the slot above the doorknob. "Can you give me a few minutes to unpack before we start working?" She needed some time to collect herself away from his demanding presence.
The light on the doorknob flashed red. She jammed the card in again, almost folding it in her haste. Still red. Muttering under her breath, she yanked the card out. She couldn’t see anything the way he blocked the light from the hall fixture.
"Allow me." Logan plucked the card out of her hand and gently inserted it. The little green light flashed in invitation.
"Stupid key thinks this is your room, too," Amanda muttered. She held her hand out stiffly for the key card. If she couldn’t control the way her nerves twitched in his presence, she’d never be able to make this job work. And she had no choice but to succeed.
Logan turned the handle and pushed the door open. "This is my suite also."
She stared at him for a long moment before she recovered her equilibrium. "I’m not sharing!"
"Relax." He placed one hand on the small of her back to propel her through the door. "There are two bedrooms. This arrangement is much easier when we’re traveli
ng."
"I don’t care what’s easier. I want my privacy."
"Amanda." He sighed. "Why don’t you look at the rooms? I think you’ll find them comfortable and private."
Closing the door behind them, he strode across the spacious living room, removing his business jacket casually, as if he were perfectly at ease with the notion of sharing a hotel suite with a woman he’d just hired. His dark hair gleamed in the soft lamplight that glowed throughout the honey-colored living room. A thin strip of tan skin between the edge of his crisply cut hair and the starched collar of his white cotton shirt drew her eye. But she banished the imp in her brain who wondered what else he might take off. Where would that kind of thinking lead her?
She forced her gaze around the room, looking for a distraction. The suite was big enough that they wouldn’t be tripping over each other. Logan had walked behind the sleek mahogany bar, a sinuous curve of polished wood slinking against the left wall. For her part, if she were going to do any slinking, it would be on those huge, overstuffed sofas, which whispered a silky invitation to lie back, relax, and accept their voluptuous embrace. She moved toward one, then decided against taking a seat. No one could look professional reclining in that almost-bed.
The floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room had an angel’s view of the gleaming lights of Chicago. Not that she felt one bit like an angel. More like the devil’s mistress.
She watched Logan’s dark head dip down behind the huge bouquet of jewel-toned flowers adorning the bar. When his broad shoulders re-emerged, one arm lifting a bottle of amber colored liquid, she knew exactly how Eve must have felt in the Garden of Eden. Choose the clever, enticing devil, capable of luring any woman to any delight – or the milquetoast Adam? No competition at all.
Logan raised the bottle. "You look nervous," he said. "Would you like a drink?"
He poured the whiskey into a crystal tumbler. Amanda almost expected the tinkling ice cubes to vaporize under the heat of his gaze.
"No, thanks." She cleared her throat. "I don’t drink when I’m working."
Raising one brow, he set the bottle down on the bar with a small thud. "I won’t take advantage of you."
Amanda caught her breath. Why did the look in his eye say otherwise?
He walked toward her, holding his drink in one hand while he loosened his tie and yanked it off with his other hand.
"Where will I be working?" she asked. Perhaps a reminder of her employment status would halt his advance. Or at least the disrobing.
"That’s your choice," he answered, giving her that half smile he’d perfected. Just one corner of his mouth turned up, but his lips and dark eyes relaxed.
He gestured with his drink. "The office and the kitchenette are to your left, the bedrooms on the right."
Bedrooms? She stiffened.
His alert eyes caught the slight movement. "Don’t worry." His long fingers moved at his throat and the top button on his shirt popped open. "Sleeping with me is not part of your job description."
"I hardly expected it would be." Amanda heaved a silent sigh of relief. That statement had been clear enough. If she felt a twinge of disappointment, she masked it. His familiarity hadn’t meant anything. Big deal. She hadn’t taken this job to find a boyfriend.
She had to be careful not to offend him, though. She had to remember that he was the boss.
He stopped in front of her, crowding her. The relaxation of his attire hadn’t subdued his magnetism. His high-planed cheekbones, well-defined jaw and slash of black eyebrows still marked him as a strong, damnably attractive man. She could smell him, his faint, spicy cologne overlaid on a trace of soap.
"May I help you off with your jacket?" He touched her shoulder. "You don't look comfortable."
She stepped away from him. "You shouldn’t make personal comments." Why did she feel and sound like a maiden aunt? "Though I know we’ll be working together closely, I expect both of us to maintain a professional attitude."
"A professional attitude," he repeated. He placed his drink down on the glass dining table beside her, and the little clinking sound chimed like a warning bell. He began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
Amanda stared at him. She could tell his actions were automatic, but they still made her uneasy.
There were only two possibilities here. Either her vivid imagination had run away with her, drawing a scenario of sexual attraction where none existed. Or, she stood in danger of succumbing to the dangerous appeal of this man, a course of action which would jeopardize everything she intended to achieve. Either way, she could only lose if she didn’t keep her wits about her.
"I intend to perform this job to the best of my ability," she said. "As I told you before."
"You take an unusual amount of pride in your…ah, profession."
Her back stiffened. "I work hard."
His lips twitched. "Don’t worry about my ego."
She barely restrained a snort. He had enough ego for ten men. "The agency told me you were a demanding boss." Let his ego take that.
Surprise flitted across his face. "I suppose that’s true." He smiled at her. "Though I save the rough stuff for my business adversaries."
"I don’t mind a tough boss. You warned me that this was a job, nothing more."
"I have every intention of treating you with respect. So forget the tough boss routine."
"What do you mean?" Now she was surprised.
He took a step toward her. "I’d prefer to show you what I mean."
She froze in bewildered shock as he folded his arms around her. He bent his head, and before she knew what he meant to do, he touched his lips to hers. Just a soft, warm brush of his mouth over hers. Nothing threatening at all. If she didn’t count the buzz that ran over every one of her nerves.
"Logan!" She tried to step back, but his arms didn't release her.
Instead, he reached up and massaged the back of her neck. Pleasure sizzled over her skin and she dropped her shoulders to allow him more access. Oh, that felt good.
His long fingers explored an inch or two down into the back of her blouse. "You’re very tense," he said. "It will be better for you if you can relax."
"I don’t need to relax." She needed to breathe. Before she collapsed at his feet, and he got the wrong idea about how he made her feel. Because this wasn't right.
He didn’t seem to be getting the same message.
"I told the agency I wanted someone different," he said, licking the edge of her mouth with his hot tongue. "But I didn’t expect them to be so successful." He angled his head and kissed her neck.
"I hardly think the agency had anything to do with this."
"Mmmm." He dropped another light kiss on her mouth. "Physical attraction is hard to predict."
"I’m not attracted to you!" Her breath strangled in her throat as she fought a moan. His hands were very close now to the undersides of her breasts.
"Are you sure about that?"
His tongue licked her lips and her mouth fell open, without any decision on her part. He swept in, and this time he kissed her hard. So hard she had to kiss him back. So hard that their tongues couldn't avoid tangling. So hard that it was only natural for his arms to sweep around her and crush her to him.
She tasted whiskey on his tongue, smelled heat on his skin, and heard murmurs of approval in his throat.
No, she wasn’t sure about anything. Except the fact that she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be thinking about twining her legs around his waist, or falling back on the plush sofa and turning it into a bed. If she had to think about beds, she should picture her sister lying in her narrow hospital bed, wires snaking in and around her body, with a sheet tucked in tightly, as if awaiting a corpse. The image chilled her, and she shivered. Would she allow an emotion as transitory as desire to sway her from her course?
His mouth moved down her neck as he pressed kisses both hard and tender to her. He bit her where her neck met her shoulder, just as his roaming hands feathered ov
er her breasts. She stiffened and melted at the same time. A response that allowed her to both twine herself against him and to arch her back. Her purse fell to the floor, and the thump registered a wake-up call.
"Logan," she said, struggling to repeat the words. Lie or not, she had to say them to stop this dangerous madness. "I’m not attracted to you."
He released her just enough to look down at her. "So why are your nipples hard?"
"Because you’ve been manhandling them!"
His half smile showed, though his face looked a little strained. "Yeah, technically I suppose they have been handled by a man. With great pleasure."
"Look, I've had a long day." If she didn't get out of this room, she might grab him. "I'd like to retire to my room. Will you need me tonight for work?"
He raised his brows. "Yes, I will need you," he said firmly. "Perhaps you’d like to change into something more comfortable?" Dropping his hands, he glanced at his watch. "Shall we say half-an-hour?"
"Fine." She suppressed a sigh. He had told her this would be her first night on the job. "Though I don’t need to change," she added. "What will you want me to do?"
His gaze, which had been lingering on her breasts, snapped to her face.
"Amanda, you’re a sharp woman. Right from the beginning I liked that about you."
She took a step back. "Your point is?"
"Look, unless you’re wearing a plaid skirt and knee socks, the ingénue approach isn’t my thing."
"The ingénue approach?" He’d reduced her to a parrot.
"The dumb, innocent act. Even in the right outfit, it wouldn’t be my first choice."
"I …" She opened and closed her mouth. Words failed her. Had she taken a job with a pervert? Damn! It had seemed so perfect! "What are you talking about?"
"Are you new at this?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at her. "Because I’m sure I’ve told the agency I want only experienced women. And no games."
"You know exactly what my experience is." Amanda grabbed her purse from the floor. "But if you don’t like to play games, then stop speaking in riddles. Just tell me plainly what you want."
"Fine." He jerked his hand toward her. "Get undressed."