by Francis Ray
“Good morning.” Smiling, he emerged from the Porsche and extended his hand. “I wasn’t expecting to see you rise out of the flowers. It was quite a sight.”
The woman coolly looked at his hand, then back at him. He was being judged. He hoped like hell he didn’t come up short. “I’m Roman Santiago. I’m here to meet Dillon.”
The frown on her lovely face cleared only marginally. After placing the shears in the basket of flowers, she held out her hand. “Good morning, Mr. Santiago. Dillon is expecting you.”
He barely felt the warmth of her hand before it was gone. The calluses surprised him as much as the woman and his unexpected response to her.
“Please come inside.” Turning away, she started toward the house.
Roman admired the erect posture, the slight sway of her shapely hips, and was glad he’d lifted his gaze when she turned to look back at him. He smiled innocently and tried to look as if he hadn’t been admiring her and thinking things he probably shouldn’t.
But at sixty years of age, his once coal-black hair liberally sprinkled with gray, he’d learned to live life to the fullest. Each day was a gift. He’d had too many friends and relatives leave this earth unexpectedly. When his time came, he didn’t want to have any regrets.
Facing forward, she opened the door and stepped aside. “Please go in.”
So, he hadn’t fooled her. She’d known he was scoping her out. Touching the brim of his baseball cap, he went inside. The house was as inviting as the woman. He liked the soothing grays with touches of soft greens and yellows amid bold flashes of red and green. It showed restrained passion.
Immediately, he knew the woman had decorated the house. Perhaps she was Dillon’s mother’s younger sister. She still had on her left glove. Roman could only hope he wouldn’t want to howl when she removed it and he saw a ring.
“Hey, Roman,” Dillon came in from the back of the house, his hand outstretched. “Glad you’re here.”
“Hey, Dillon.” The handshake was strong. “You know I like to drive. It gives me a chance to listen to my CDs and books on tape, and best of all, it’s a business expense and it’s on your dime.”
Dillon laughed and clapped Roman on the back. “It’s a good thing you’re the best. I see you’ve met my mother.”
Roman’s mouth gaped open. “You’re kidding, right?” This stunning woman, whose eyes had lit up when Dillon entered the room but had gone to frost when he’d made a teasing comment about the business expense, couldn’t be his mother.
Dillon happily threw one long arm around his mother’s slim shoulders. “She gets that reaction all the time. I like to say she’s aged well.”
“I guess somebody doesn’t want breakfast,” Marlene said sweetly.
“Just kidding, Mama,” he said. “Roman Santiago, my mother, Marlene Montgomery.”
“My pleasure.” He tipped his hat again.
“Mr. Santiago, Dillon said you’d be joining him for breakfast,” she said.
“Thank you. If it’s not too much trouble,” Roman said.
“It’s not.” Her smile brittle, she spoke to Dillon. “Please show your guest to the kitchen. The table is already set. I’m not finished outside. Good-bye, Mr. Santiago.”
Dillon caught her arm before she had gone two steps. “You’re not eating with us?”
She palmed his cheek. “I’d only be in the way.”
He shook his head. “You know I’m not having that. Remember the house rule.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Show your guest to the bathroom. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Roman’s view of Marlene was cut off when Dillon took his arm. “I’ll show you to the bathroom. You’re about to taste the best cooking in the state.”
What Roman really wanted to taste was Marlene’s lips and other parts of her fantastic body. He tucked his head and stepped inside the half bath. Dillon idolized his mother. If he had any idea what Roman was thinking, Roman would be picking his teeth up off the floor.
Roman grabbed a fluffy gray towel and dried his hands. He didn’t usually mix business with pleasure, but he was pragmatic enough to know that there were exceptions to every rule.
Life had just taken one of those wonderful, unexpected turns, and he couldn’t wait to see where it led.
* * *
In Marlene’s fifty-seven years, she had met more than her share of handsome, smooth-talking men. They all thought they were God’s gift to women. All they had to do was smile, turn on the charm, and the women fell into their bed.
She’d learned that lesson the hard way. No man had interested her in years. She hadn’t thought one could.
Unclenching her hand from around the flowers, she placed them on the gray marble counter until she could cut the stems and place them in water. For now, she had Dillon’s guest to entertain.
“Something smells good.”
The rough timbre of his voice annoyed her as much as it unsettled her. She wanted Roman Santiago out of her life.
“Like I told you, there’s none better than Mama’s cooking. Have a seat.”
Dillon’s voice calmed her as much as his guest unnerved her. But she wasn’t some naïve girl from the country any longer. Removing the sausage-and-egg casserole from the warming oven, she placed it on the table.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Thanks, Roman, but Mama and I have it.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dillon fill three glasses with orange juice. Afterward he placed a cup beneath the automatic coffee machine, an extravagant expense, but one he had insisted on.
She looked at him—handsome, intelligent, and compassionate. And thank God, nothing like the man he was the spitting image of.
“Are you all right?”
Her gaze flew to Roman.
“Yeah. Sure.” Dillon placed another cup under the spout. “I’m an old hand at this.”
“I was asking your mother.”
Dillon swung to her, concern in his face. “Mama?”
“Fine.” She busied herself getting the jam, jellies, and syrup. “Just thinking.” He wouldn’t make her lie to Dillon. They’d always been honest with each other.
“Here you go, Roman. Black, straight, just like you like it.” Dillon placed Roman’s cup on the table, then his and hers. “Mama and I like ours with lots of cream and sugar.”
“I might have to try it one day,” Roman commented.
Marlene took her seat. He might have been talking about the coffee, but she didn’t think so. “I’ll say grace.” Bowing her head, she thanked God out loud for His blessings. Silently, she asked Him to remove temptation from her path and keep her strong.
Looking up, she stared into the hot black eyes of Roman Santiago. She felt the pull, sensed the danger. She served both men, then herself. She noted that, just like Dillon, Roman didn’t take a bite of food until she did.
“Roman, we’ll drive over to the plant as soon as we finish breakfast.” Dillon dug into his meal. “I’m going to tell everyone, outside the two people in accounting, that you’re doing inventory. I don’t want anyone getting wind of the audit.”
Roman sipped his coffee. “You expect theft?”
“I’m not sure.” Dillon frowned in concentration. “Although the plant needs a major overhaul and they’ve lost a couple of clients, it shouldn’t be in the poor financial position it’s in.”
“If someone had their hand in the till, I’ll know.”
“How long will that take?” Marlene asked as calmly as she could.
“Depends.” He gave her his full attention. “I’m very thorough.”
Shivers raced through her.
“And the best.” Dillon nodded toward Roman’s empty plate. “If you’re finished, we can leave?”
Roman took one last sip of coffee and stood. “A meal like this should be savored.”
Dillon came to his feet as well. “You’re welcome anytime. Isn’t that right, Mama?”
She tried to smile a
nd hoped she succeeded. “Of course.”
Dillon leaned over and brushed his lips against his mother’s cheek. “I might be later than usual. Let’s roll, Roman.”
She could feel Roman’s eyes on hers and refused to look up.
“Thank you again, Mrs. Montgomery, for a wonderful meal.”
Drawing on all of her courage, she lifted her head and stared straight at him. No man would ever have power over her again. “It’s ‘Ms.’ Good-bye.”
His brow arched in surprise, then Roman turned to leave with Dillon.
Marlene just sat there. She was too unsteady to do anything else.
Dillon wouldn’t associate with a man who used women. He certainly wouldn’t have an easy friendship or bring him into her home. Therefore, Roman might be a charmer, but he wasn’t out for his own selfish pleasure—the way A. J. Reed had been.
It didn’t matter. She had no intention of being anything more to Roman Santiago than the mother of a business associate.
She’d been a fool once over a man. Never again, no matter how he made her feel emotions she thought she’d locked away.
Six
Samantha walked through her office door at exactly seven fifty-two with a full stomach and a heavy heart. She’d sat through a silent breakfast with her uncle. She had to consider the unwanted thought that Dillon might be right. She wasn’t sure she could face his disapproval at work and at home.
At least her aunt hadn’t been there. The housekeeper said that if she didn’t have a social engagement, she slept in and didn’t come downstairs until after ten.
Going to the smaller desk, she opened the bottom drawer, placed her bag inside then went to the file cabinet. She had no intention of being useless. She wanted to help, learn the business, not just tag along.
After removing several files, she shoved the cabinet closed with more force than necessary. She returned to her desk. Dillon thought she was worthless. His sarcastic comment about looking cute still rankled. She’d show him.
Last night, she’d gone on the Internet to research turbo engines. If she had to, she wanted to be able to run the company by herself. She wasn’t waiting or being dependent on either her uncle or Dillon.
Her office door opened and the man who occupied entirely too much of her thoughts entered with another man she didn’t recognize. Dillon was dressed in a light blue polo shirt and jeans. He looked gorgeous, and for once he was smiling.
“Morning, Sam.”
“Good morning,” she said, smiling back at him without thought.
Dillon placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Samantha Collins, meet Roman Santiago, the best C.P.A. in the country.”
“I would have settled for state.” Roman grinned and crossed the room to extend his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Collins.”
The handshake was firm, the dark eyes dancing with merriment. “Thank you for coming.”
“I like challenges.” Roman glanced back at Dillon. “Updating all of the accounts onto the computer certainly qualifies.”
“I like keeping my friends happy.” Dillon chuckled.
For a moment, Samantha simply stared at Dillon. She’s never seen him this playful and … nice.
“I’ll start scanning in the records for the past six months and work on them first to see if anything pops,” Roman said.
“Pops?” Samantha stopped ogling Dillon. “You think there’s fraud?”
Roman looked contrite. “I thought she knew, since she’s aware of why I’m here.”
Samantha rounded the desk and didn’t stop until she was in front of Dillon. “I didn’t, but I plan to. Talk.”
“Should I wait outside?” Roman asked with a hint of laughter in his voice.
“With all the orders we went over, revenues should have been better. We need to figure out why they aren’t.” He nodded to Roman. “He’s the best and can do it quickly and quietly.”
“You could have told me,” she said.
“I just did.”
There was no sense reminding him she was a partner. He didn’t see it that way. One day he would. She looked at Roman. “l’ll show you to your office. It’s small, but has a window.”
“Once I start working I tend to block everything out.”
“I’ll come down at closing,” Dillon said. “I’ll ask Mama to cook for all of us so we can discuss how the day went.”
“I’m fast, but not that fast. Give me a couple of days.”
Samantha couldn’t believe Dillon would ask his mother on such short notice to prepare dinner for two guests. “It will also give your mother more time to prepare for guests.”
“Mama doesn’t need much notice, but we’ll move it to tomorrow evening at six.”
“All right.” Roman held up two cases. “Then I better get started.”
“Certainly.” Samantha started toward the door, but a strong hand on her arm stopped her. She felt her body heat, her skin prickle.
“I’ll do it,” Dillon told her. “I want people getting used to seeing me and giving orders.”
“Transition is difficult for people who’ve been with the company a long time,” Roman commented. “They’ll soon get used to you and Ms. Collins being their boss.”
Dillon’s attention switched to Samantha. “If only that was the case.”
Samantha accepted the dig. “Mr. Santiago, the employees think my uncle, my grandfather’s oldest son, who works here as V.P., is their boss. I didn’t want him embarrassed when people learned that he was passed over. I thought it would foster goodwill and make a better working relationship between us.”
“You wanna tell him how well the goodwill has worked with your uncle?” Sarcasm dripped from each word Dillon spoke.
Samantha sent Dillon a hard frown, which he ignored.
“No? Then I’ll tell Roman.” Dillon’s amicable expression had vanished the instant Samantha mentioned Evan still being perceived as the boss. “Evan Collins is an arrogant prick who thinks he’s better than anyone. He refuses to help the company in any way and tells us we’re going to fail every chance he gets and treats Sam as an interloper. Did I leave anything out?”
Her face heated. It was one thing for Dillon to know that her uncle thought she was incompetent and didn’t like her, but it was quite another for an outsider to know. “No,” she said softly, glancing away.
“Come on, Roman, I’ll show you to your office.” Dillon went to the door.
Samantha could feel Roman’s gaze on her. She refused to meet it.
“Thank you again.” She went behind her desk and picked up the folder.
“Was that necessary?” she heard Roman ask.
If Dillon gave an answer, he spoke too softly for her to hear. A few moments later, she heard the door open and close. When she looked up, she was alone. Just as she’d been since she’d lost her parents.
* * *
Dillon didn’t need Roman’s reprimand to know he’d hurt Sam. He hadn’t meant to. He just got angry whenever he thought of how badly Evan treated her. If he got another chance to punch Evan, he was taking it.
Opening the door of their joint office, he saw her hunched over the files. She looked small and vulnerable. And alone. Every battle he’d fought, he’d always known his mother would be there beside him battling just as hard. He couldn’t imagine going through life with no one to fight for you.
His careless comment had reminded Sam of just that. He felt like crap.
She’d been thrust into this the same as he’d been. It wasn’t her fault her uncle was an ass. What made him want to bow his head was that he wasn’t sure he wasn’t acting like one as well.
Sitting behind the larger desk, he glanced over. She didn’t have a tissue in her hand, nor was she wiping at her eyes. He felt only marginally better that she wasn’t crying.
He knew exactly why he was hard on her and pushed her. “You shouldn’t let Evan walk all over you.”
She lifted her head. Her eyes were clear, and they were angry. “I s
uppose you’re the only one allowed to do that.”
He was almost proud of her for not backing down. “I have your best interests at heart.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.” She went back to the file.
She was even prettier with a sparkle in her eyes. Dillon reached for a file. He was not going there. “Find anything yet?”
“Two of our biggest accounts’ orders have steadily declined over the past year.” She turned toward him.
“Who is the account manager?”
She bit her lower lip. He immediately knew.
“Evan,” he snapped.
“Yes.”
“Figures.” Dillon snorted. “If he spent as much time on business as he did trying to impress people and goofing off, the company would be in better shape.”
“There are notations in the file made by Grandfather a couple of months ago, but I can’t read his writing,” she said.
“Chicken scratch, he called it.” Dillon walked over to Sam and leaned over to try to decipher the writing.
Somehow his eyes stopped on the arousing swell of Samantha’s breasts, the enticing scent of her perfume.
“Can you make it out?”
Dillon straightened. He would like to make out all right. “Nah. Mama probably could.”
“Maybe we could ask her tomorrow night.”
Was there a catch in her voice? Had her eyes widened just the tiniest bit?
“Yeah.” Dillon took his seat. If she was attracted to him, he was going to have one heck of a time resisting not taking her. “What do you know about turbochargers?”
“Turbochargers are engineered to force more air mass into an engine’s intake manifold and combustion chamber. Compression by the turbocharger causes the intake of air to heat, rather than the air being heated by contact with the hot turbocharger itself.” She took a short breath. “A turbocharger gets its power from the exhaust stream. The exhaust runs through a turbine, which in turn spins the compressor,” she finished in a rush.
Dillon leaned back in his chair. “I’d be impressed if it sounded like you knew what you were talking about instead of spouting facts.”
She flushed.
“But it showed you’re willing to learn.”