The Boss and Miss Baxter

by Warren, Wendy

  “David, the Takas are leaving, and I- Oh. Sorry! Oh.”

  Nina jumped when she heard Jack's voice. Swiveling in David's arms, she looked at the door and saw what he did: Jack and Samantha stood on the threshold, Jack looking flummoxed, Samantha surprised and trying not to grin. David felt Nina's muscles turn rigid, though they'd been as soft as cooked noodles only a moment before.

  David, the soul of patience if he said so himself, wanted to wring his nephew's neck. “Do you knock?”

  “I did, actually. Twice.” For the first time in ages, sheepish Jack looked more like David's nephew than Hanson's CEO.

  The truth was Jack could have knocked a dozen times, and David wouldn't have heard him. Unfortunately he was in no mood to be reasonable. “Well, did you hear me say, 'Come in'?”

  “No, that's true. But I, uh…” Jack looked at Samantha. “Why did I open the door?”

  Rubbing her fiancé's shoulder, Samantha prompted, “Because we're leaving, and we want to say goodbye like polite guests.” She addressed David. “Also Shiguro is looking for you.”

  “Right.” Jack nodded, taking Samantha's hand. “The Takas want to say goodbye and thank you. Les said he saw you heading this way, so I thought I'd…” He frowned at his uncle's still unpleasant expression. Calmly, he turned toward his bride-to-be. “I think we're done here.”

  Samantha smiled. “Almost. Great party,” she said to both David and Nina. “Listen, don't bother to answer now, but will you consider hosting our bridal shower? I want Bubby to cater. I'm mad about the liver or pâté or whatever you want to call it. Think it over.” Mischief infused her falsely innocent expression. As the door closed behind her and Jack, she leaned around for one more smile and a huge thumbs-up.

  “Subtle, isn't she?” David murmured when the door had clicked. “Hard to believe we're going to be related.”

  Nina took a step away and shivered. She didn't look at him as she smoothed the top and skirt he'd only just begun to muss.

  “Don't even think about walking out of here,” he said, drawing a glance of surprise.

  “The Takas are looking for you,” she reminded him. “You don't want to hide from your guests of honor.” Her voice was a bit shaky, not nearly as matter-of-fact as she wanted it to sound. David took great comfort in that.

  Reaching for her arm, he drew her close and held her, letting his fingers play in the tumbled cloud of curls the way he'd wanted to all evening. He didn't try to kiss her again; that would have been counterproductive.

  “I'm not forgetting the Takas,” he assured, weaving a thick curl around his finger while his other hand stroked her back. She shivered again. “But I'm not leaving this room until I can make a G-rated appearance.”

  Nina pulled back to look at him quizzically. Then her expression cleared, and, to his great delight, a smile played across her rosebud lips when she realized that although he had put the brakes on their kissing session, his body was still very much in drive.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nina was rinsing the champagne flutes and matching china plates she'd rented for the evening when David entered the kitchen. It was after 11:00.

  The condo was still redolent with aromas from the food they'd served all evening. Tangible reminders of the savory brisket and hot pastrami mingled with the subtle, lingering scents of two-hundred-dollar-an-ounce perfumes.

  Mostly what Nina would recall from this evening, however, was the surprise of David's kiss and the way it had excavated an aching awareness of her own loneliness. For years she had buried her personal needs, denied having any that couldn't be postponed indefinitely. She'd believed she could live for her children, her responsibilities and then remember herself…someday.

  It appeared that today was the day.

  Every cell of her being had come awake with David's touch. His kisses made her remember why the first flowers of spring were so welcome after a long bare winter. She didn't know if he'd want to pick up where they'd left off when Jack had interrupted, or if he was thinking, Whew, that was a close call. But she knew she'd cry in bed tonight if she had to sleep alone.

  She would have sex with him if he asked.

  The knowledge was exhilarating. Terrifying. Like an extreme sport.

  He said nothing as he crossed the kitchen to stand beside her. They were alone now in the condo, guests gone and her children at their friends' house until tomorrow. David stood so close she could smell his skin-warm and musky with the memory of his aftershave. Nina felt her heart wobble as if each beat took all her body's effort. Beneath the running water, her hands trembled around.

  David reached for the faucet and turned off the water. Taking the glass from her slippery hands, he set it aside, picked up a dish towel lying over the lip of the sink and wiped her fingers…gently, thoroughly…one by one.

  When her hands were dry, he ditched the towel and drew her toward him until their torsos touched… and then their hips…the tops of their thighs…. Fire burned. David released her hands after he'd guided them around his waist. He'd discarded his coat, and Nina felt the solidness, the strength and power in his body.

  He plowed fingers through her hair, tilted her face and kissed her with all the desire and none of the restraint he'd grappled for earlier in the evening.

  Nina gave herself up to the kiss. Her hands refused to stay primly around his waist. She wanted to touch his back, his shoulders, his neck where it sloped into collar and chest. She cupped a palm around his jaw and felt it move when his tongue slipped between her lips. Every time she thought of a new place to touch, she followed the desire with action. David did the same.

  Two minutes into the kiss, it seemed as if they were merely seconds away from slipping to the kitchen floor to make love. The urgency of his need was evident in the sudden roughness of his hands, the ragged breathing, the hardness that pressed against her pelvis. Nina was more than willing to make love where they stood, without breaking the moment, without thinking or speaking. No space between desire and consummation.

  In the end, they moved out of the kitchen and down the hall. David's room was the unspoken destination, though how they got there she couldn't remember later. Clothes were pushed and pulled, hiked up and down, but not removed completely. They fell onto the king-size bed, and the only pause Nina noticed was the one during which he reached into a drawer for a condom, and she tugged off her pantyhose. After that, it was all hungry mouths and even hungrier hands.

  He reached for her, made sure she was ready, but words dissolved into groans and groans to gasps. There was no time for teasing, and no patience for it. Like teenagers who hadn't any idea how to wait, or clandestine lovers who couldn't afford to, they tore remaining barriers out of their way. David made quick work of her underwear. Then, breathing like a thoroughbred nearing the end of a race, he opened her body to his and drove inside.

  Nina moaned at the pleasure and the pain of reawakening. David pushed deeper, gave and took, and they rocked together until they could no longer breathe.

  David knew true satisfaction for perhaps the first time in his life.

  Standing at the window of his downtown office, he looked at the street below, but saw only Nina.

  For sixteen hours he'd had her all to himself. They'd slept for part of that time, but she'd been in his dreams, too, and when he'd awakened, he'd opened his eyes to her beautiful face…had felt her touching him.

  The first time they'd made love, he'd been almost ashamed of his need, of the urgency that hadn't allowed him even to disrobe fully. But Nina's need had matched his. And he'd made it up to her, later that night and most of the next day.

  Gazing out the spotless window, he grinned, finally managing to notice the sky and wondering if Chicago was always this cloudless and sunny in early May.

  Making love to Nina had scrubbed away a good quarter century of dusty cynicism.

  He'd spent Sunday showing the Takas around Chicago. Even though Nina had begged off to take Izzy and Zach to a music recital, David had t
hought Chicago never looked better, more interesting, more clean.

  That night they'd all been together-David, Nina and the kids-and though he'd spent a good part of the evening wondering whether he and Nina would find a way to make love with two preteens in the house (they hadn't), he'd enjoyed that Sunday night at home more than any in memory.

  Now it was eleven-thirty Monday morning, almost lunchtime. David had phoned home twice and had gotten the answering machine. He had no lunch meetings; going home to see Nina, to talk, to make love seemed like a much better plan than eating over his desk.

  His secretary buzzed just as he was reaching for the phone.

  “Mrs. Hanson is here to see you,” she said.

  It took a moment for him to realize whom Judy meant. “Helen?”

  “She'd like to know if you have a few minutes before your next meeting.”

  Judy knew he didn't have another meeting until three that afternoon. She was giving him an out he'd love to take, but Helen, his sister-in-law, had never asked to see him at work before. Hoping it wouldn't take long, he responded, “Send her in.”

  The door opened. Helen entered as she'd entered every room since the first time he'd met her: She swept in; she glided. Blond, tall and as perfectly groomed as a Nieman Marcus mannequin, George's widow was as beautiful today as she'd been when George had first introduced her to David.

  There was something different today, though. Something slightly off.

  “I'm sorry I came over without calling first.” She apologized before saying hello. “George hated it when I did that.”

  “How are you, Helen?” The perfunctory question emerged as just that: a polite rejoinder. It occurred to David almost immediately as he noted the unusual puffiness around Helen's eyes that if he really cared how his sister-in-law was faring, he'd have visited her at least once or twice since George had died. He felt a stab of guilt, though duller probably than it should have been.

  She aimed her green eyes slightly to David's left as she replied, “Fine. May I sit down?”

  He came around the desk, pulled out a chair Helen had ordered upholstered in Thai silk the year she'd redecorated the offices.

  Sitting behind his desk seemed too businesslike, so David hovered at its edge and waited for Helen to speak. He felt his brows pulling together by the time she formed her words.

  “The reading of George's will is coming up,” she began, her voice as unusually tentative as her gaze. “We haven't discussed George-you and I-since the funeral. I thought…”

  In the uncertain pause, David wondered what, precisely, she wanted to discuss. Given the information that had come to light after George's death, affectionate reminiscence seemed unlikely. Even the eulogy David had delivered at the funeral had focused on George's exuberant personality, his business acumen, his commitment to excellence, but had neatly skirted personal details. George Hanson's death had brought one fact above others into bald relief: David hadn't known his brother.

  It had never occurred to him, for instance, that George had kept a double set of books for the business, or that George had been so afraid of failure that he'd been willing to lie to his family and business associates for years.

  “I'm not sure what to talk about,” David began, deciding there had been enough courtesy. If Helen wanted to take a trip down memory lane, she'd have to find another travel companion; he couldn't do it, not yet. “If nothing else, these past months have proved to me that I didn't know my brother, Helen. I'd like to offer you some comfort…something…. I'm not sure-”

  “I didn't know him, either!” Helen blurted, her green eyes large and worn from crying as she looked directly at David for the first time today. “That's why I'm here.”

  She dug into an ivory leather handbag the identical shade as her dress. David noticed then that the blond hair she'd pulled into a low coil at the nape of her neck was straight and tight, not big and curled, as she'd worn it for years. When she pulled out a large plain envelope, he saw, too, that she'd removed the gemstones that had previously decorated her long fingers.

  She held the letter up, looking at David with un-blinking pain. “George left me this. I found it a few days ago. He wrote it right before he died, apparently. As if he had a premonition.”

  She stopped speaking, but David's curiosity was peaked. He reached for the envelope.

  As if his fingers were licks of fire, she snatched the letter to her bosom, away from his grasp. “It's written to me. It's…private.”

  “Then why are you-”

  “I don't know!” Helen, truly agitated now, rose and paced the office. “I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have, but I want to know if George ever said anything to you…about me.” She halted and looked at David again. When her lips trembled, she set her jaw with the determination of a fighter climbing into the ring. “Did he tell you why he married me?”

  Oh, hell. Apparently there were more surprises from George. David wasn't sure he wanted to hear this. Correction: He was damned sure he didn't. But Helen was genuinely upset and clearly intent on answers, not platitudes.

  “George didn't talk to me about personal issues, Helen.” He decided to start with broad truths and work his way to specifics. “He always seemed proud of you. Glad you were his wife-”

  “Glad to show me off,” she interrupted bitterly, her eyes sparking now with more fire than he'd ever credited her. “Did he ever use the word love? As in, 'Look at the little lady. Ain't she somethin'? I sure do love her.'” Her lips pursed and she shook her head. “No, I guess not.”

  Raising the letter, she looked at it as if she couldn't decide whether to rip it to shreds or read it again. “He apologizes in here.” She spoke with her eyes on the envelope, and with each word her tone flattened, sounding more resigned. “He's sorry he wasn't able to give me what I needed. Sorry he didn't have the 'emotion' I wanted.” Her gaze rose. “He says he suspects I'm smarter than he gave me credit for.”

  David was stunned. Even in the face of Helen's palpable pain, he found himself amazed chiefly that his brother had, after all, noticed other people's needs. That he'd felt some remorse.

  He also realized the letter's less overt implication: George must have sensed that he was ill. Perhaps he'd felt some culpability for the mess he was about to bequeath his family.

  Helen took a shuddering breath. When she looked at David, she was still full of emotion, but visibly calmer.

  “Damned right I'm smarter than he gave me credit for,” she said, admirably more resolute than angry. “Obviously not smart to accept the truth a long time ago-I was George's trophy wife. The second wife usually is, isn't she?” Her lips curled with eloquent irony. “But we trophy wives get older, too, and if we're lucky we grow up. Well, I'm smart enough to realize that my stepsons share their father's flaws. They don't know how to act like family, and they underestimate their stepmother.”

  She tucked the letter into her purse. “You've always been cordial to me, David. Cordial and, I think, honest. So I'm going to be honest with you. I realize that the Hanson men expect me to take my diamonds and my big house and pretend my involvement in this family is over. But it isn't. Not by a long shot. For better or worse George Hanson made me a stepmother and a shareholding member of Hanson Media Group. I intend to follow through on both responsibilities.”

  David didn't know exactly what she meant by that and wondered if Hanson Media Group or the Hanson family could survive too many more surprises.

  He gestured to the abandoned chair. “Helen, why don't you sit down? It appears we have more to discuss.” He reached for his phone. “I'll have some coffee brought in, and we can-”

  “Do I sound like I need caffeine?” She managed to laugh. “No, David, that's enough for today.” She looked at her watch. “I barged in. We'll talk more another day-when we both have more time, and I'm a little calmer.” She offered a self-aware smile through her tears. “May I ask you not to mention this to the boys? Though I'm sure it would brighten their day to know their
father cared for me about as little as they do.”

  The boys. George's sons, who had never been on fabulous terms with their young stepmama.

  David frowned, but nodded, because despite her being distraught, today he'd witnessed in Helen a steely strength he'd never before attributed to her. And she was right about one thing: The Hansons didn't know how to be a family. If she thought she could straighten them out, why not give her a crack at it?

  “I won't say anything until I hear from you again, Helen,” he said. “But I hope that will be soon.”

  The smile she sent him was grateful. “It will be.”

  On high, thin heels, she walked out, and David felt suddenly exhausted. Running a hand through his hair, he decided he'd rather not know all that was in that letter. Shoving his restless hands in his pockets, he stalked to the window, but this time he saw nothing at all.

  Good God, when he exited this world, would he be like his brother? Would he leave behind the same uncertainty, the doubt and division George had left?

  Two of his sons couldn't even be bothered to show up for the reading of the damned will.

  “You blew it, George. You had the people present and accounted for, but you didn't know how to turn them into a family.”

  That seemed to be a problem in the Hanson DNA.

  David blinked, tried to focus his eyes, but instead of the Chicago skyline he saw Nina…Zach…Izzy… even Bubby.

  The people. Present and accounted for.

  The need to see Nina now welled inside him like lava looking for the top of the volcano.

  He didn't want to sneak around, trying to have sex when no one was looking. He didn't want to be the lover who lurked in the shadows of her life.

  David wasn't even certain what he was going to say to Nina when he got home. He wasn't sure she'd be there. Neither of those circumstances stopped him from picking up the phone and telling his secretary to reschedule his 3:00 p.m. meeting, then grabbing the jacket off the back of his chair and sprinting through the office until he reached the elevators.