How to Sleep with the Boss

by Janice Maynard

  “And Spencer, too?”

  “Of course.”

  Patrick’s expression was moody, as if he resented the fact that she had landed on her feet. What was it to him? He hadn’t been willing to give her a job or a place to live...or even a tiny piece of his heart.

  “Shall I tell Maeve that I flew up here to get you, but you were too busy to come to her birthday party?” He leaned against the wall in the foyer, his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “To get my way.”

  Wow. There it was. Not even dressed up.

  At that moment, the door opened without ceremony and a large, handsome blond man entered. He stopped short when he saw Patrick. Then he lifted an eyebrow. “Libby?”

  “Patrick was just leaving,” she said hurriedly. She took the newcomer by the arm and dragged him toward the kitchen, but he refused to go very far. Instead, she had to whisper in his ear.

  He straightened after a moment and eyed Patrick with distrust. “I see.”

  She squeezed his arm. “I’m going back to Silver Glen for a couple of nights. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’d better be.”

  Ten feet away, Patrick practically vibrated with incensed testosterone overload. She had to get him out of the apartment. “You win, Patrick,” she said. “But I need some time. I’ll meet you at the airport in two hours. Take it or leave it.”

  He nodded once, scowled at her and walked out.

  The blond man chuckled. “Poor bastard. He’s madly in love with you and you let him think you’re living with me.”

  “Well, I am living with you,” Libby said, giving him a big hug.

  “Yeah, but with me and Spencer, who happens to be my beautiful, sexy wife.”

  Libby winced. “I might possibly have led him to believe that Spencer is male...and that you are Spencer.”

  “That’s stone-cold, love. But he probably deserved it.”

  Libby threw some things in a bag, her heart racing with adrenaline. She didn’t have a gift for Maeve, but Maeve would understand. Coat, keys, phone, small suitcase. In forty-five minutes, she was running downstairs and out to the street.

  Then she stopped dead, because leaning against a lamppost was Patrick Kavanagh. “I said I would meet you at the airport,” she protested.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t trust you not to run.”

  There was accusation in his voice...and something else. Fatigue? Sadness? What did he want from her?

  “Well, I’m here.”

  They faced each other silently. Being this close to him ripped apart the web of lies she had told herself to keep going every day. The truth punched her with a ferocity that took her breath. She was madly, deeply, unfortunately in love with Patrick Kavanagh.

  He raked a hand through his hair, for the first time revealing a trace of vulnerability. “The airport is shut down for fog. We can’t leave until tomorrow morning.”

  She swallowed. “Okay. Call me and let me know what time.” She turned to go back inside the building.

  Patrick caught her in two steps, his hands warm on her shoulders. “We need to talk, Libby. Come back to the hotel with me. We’ll have dinner there. Casual. Nothing fancy. I’ll get you a room if you want it. Or—” He stopped short as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

  “Or what?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “Never mind. Come have dinner with me. Please.”

  He was the last person on earth she wanted to have dinner with. And the only person. He didn’t deserve to be given the time of day. But she let herself be persuaded. And not because she was weak, and he smelled wonderful. She would hear him out, for Maeve.

  After that, Patrick was a complete gentleman. He kept his distance in the cab. At the hotel, he handed her bag to a bellman and steered Libby toward the dining room. The restaurant was conservatively old-school, reminding her of birthday dinners with her parents.

  She ordered the lobster bisque. Her appetite lately had been almost nonexistent, but the rich, warm soup was perfect. Patrick chose the duck. Because the captain and servers were attentive, it was easy to let conversation touch on innocuous topics.

  But at last, over cappuccino and crème brûlée, Patrick made an overture she hadn’t expected. “We need some privacy, Libby. Will you come upstairs with me?”

  What did he mean, privacy?

  Well, hell. She wasn’t going to be a coward about this. “For talking? Or something else?”

  His throat flushed dark red and his eyes flashed with some strong emotion. “I’ll let you make that call.”

  When he stared at her with storms in his blue-gray irises, she was helpless to resist. Or maybe that was the lie she told herself, because she didn’t want to resist.

  She folded her napkin and set it on the table. “Fine. We’ll go upstairs.”

  The tension in the elevator would have been unbearable except for the older couple who joined them during the brief ride to an upper floor.

  At Patrick’s door, Libby waited nervously for him to fish the key from his pocket. It was a different room, of course. But the furnishings were similar enough to remind her of every last thing she and Patrick had shared just days earlier in this same city...this same hotel.

  Libby took a seat. Patrick stood and paced.

  “If you’re feeling guilty, I absolve you,” she said, the words flat. “You were right. The job at Silver Reflections wasn’t suited for me. But you needn’t worry. I’ve landed on my feet, and things are going very well. I should thank you for firing me.”

  “I didn’t exactly fire you,” he protested, the muscles in his neck corded and tight.

  “What would you call it?”

  He exhaled. “A mistake. A bad mistake. I acted like a complete ass, and I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  “I make no promises. What about the sex?” she asked recklessly, fighting for her happiness, unwilling to let a blindly stubborn man ruin what they had.

  “I can’t deny it was incredible. But my life was rocking along pretty damn well until you came along.” His voice faltered.

  “Well, mine wasn’t. A thousand apologies, emperor.” She made her tone as snide and nasty as she could manage. And she leaped to her feet, no longer content to sit and let him scowl at her.

  He grabbed her wrist to reel her in, his chest heaving. “I will not fail at marriage again, Libby.”

  Eighteen

  Her heart dropped to her feet until she looked deeply into his eyes and saw the secret he was trying so hard to keep. Her jaw dropped. “You love me...”

  “No I don’t.” His denial was automatic but totally unconvincing.

  She cupped his face in her hands. “I love you, too, Patrick. But we don’t have to get married,” she said softly, “if that’s what scares you. We can live in sin. You’ll be the black sheep of the family.”

  At last the line between his eyebrows disappeared. “It’s the twenty-first century. You’ll have to do more than that to get me ostracized.”

  “I’ll try my best. But it will have to be something really awful, won’t it? Like maybe you and I making a baby without a ring on my finger? Your mom would hate that.”

  She saw the muscles in his throat work. “I’d hate it, too,” he muttered. “This isn’t how things should be, Libby. I’ve already stood before a priest and repeated marriage vows. You deserve a man who can come to you with a clean past, a blank slate.”

  Going against all her instincts, she released him and put the width of the room between them. Still, she couldn’t sit down. Too much adrenaline pumped through her veins. She busied herself at the minibar. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No. Look at me, Libby. You know I’m right
. You’re young and sweet and you deserve all the traditional trappings of an extraordinary wedding. You deserve to be the perfect bride.”

  She set down the small unopened bottle of liquor. “Here’s the truth, Patrick...the last year has taught me that life is seldom perfect. I won’t have my father to walk me down the aisle, because he’s in prison. My mother won’t be at my side helping me pick out a dress, because she took a bottle of pills.”

  “I’m sorry about all those things.”

  There was one more secret she knew she should disclose. Something that might make him understand. “Patrick?” She forced herself to perch on the sofa. The gas logs in the fireplace burned cheerfully. “Please sit with me. I want to tell you a story.”

  His expression guarded, and with reluctance in every line of his body, he nodded. But instead of joining her, he took a chair opposite, putting a low antique table between them as a barrier. “I’m listening.”

  This was harder than she had thought it would be. But if she didn’t tell Patrick, perhaps she would never be free. “You keep calling me innocent, but you had to realize that I wasn’t a virgin when you and I made love.”

  “I knew that. But neither was I. I’ve never approved of the double standard for women. I don’t care about the men in your past, Libby. It’s not important.”

  She leaned forward, her hot face in her hands. Shame flooded her stomach. “Well, it sort of is,” she muttered.

  Patrick made some kind of motion. “I don’t want to hear your confession.”

  She sat up and stared at him before looking away and shaking her head. “I’m not giving you a choice. I was a very rebellious teenager, Patrick. I’d been spoiled and pampered, and I thought the world was my oyster. I’d barely dated at all, because my parents were so strict.”

  Patrick inhaled sharply. “Libby...”

  “Don’t interrupt. Please. The thing is, my father’s best friend was newly divorced that year. He began flirting with me every time he came over to the apartment. I didn’t really think of it as flirting. But I was smug about the fact that an older, sophisticated man was interested in my thoughts and opinions. It made me feel very grown-up.”

  Beneath his breath, Patrick said a word that was succinct and vehement. She had to ignore him to get through this.

  “I turned sixteen in February. That fall was the beginning of my senior year. Most of my classmates had boyfriends, but I didn’t. So I started telling everyone about Mitch.”

  “Was that his real name?”

  She shrugged. “His middle name. I wasn’t entirely stupid. I didn’t want to get him or me in trouble. But as time passed and no one ever saw my ‘boyfriend’ at parties or other social occasions, they began to accuse me of making him up. The more teasing I took at school, the closer I grew to my father’s friend. The attention of this handsome, very masculine man soothed my adolescent feelings of inadequacy.”

  “A man old enough to be your father.”

  “It didn’t seem that way. To me, he was close to perfect.”

  “So what happened?”

  Apparently, in spite of himself, Patrick wanted to know.

  “In October, my father had to go to a financial seminar in Chicago. He wanted my mother and me to accompany him. But the trip sounded beyond boring to a teenage girl, even though my mom promised me shopping. I insisted that I was almost an adult and that they could certainly trust me. I begged them to let me stay home for the two nights they would be away.”

  “Oh, Libby...”

  “It wasn’t really a big deal. I planned to watch inappropriate movies on cable and paint my toenails and text with my friends. Maybe even sneak into my parents’ liquor cabinet and have a single glass of sherry. I felt very daring and independent.”

  “And then Mitch came over.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “It’s not that hard to figure out. He knew you were going to be alone.”

  Libby grimaced. “I was an easy mark. He pretended he dropped by to see Daddy, and then feigned surprise that my father wasn’t home. Later on, of course, I understood that Mitch knew exactly where my parents were and that I hadn’t gone with them to Chicago. But at the time, it seemed like a happy accident. I asked him to come in.”

  Patrick had gone white beneath his tan. “He raped you.”

  Even now, the memory of that night made her shudder. “I wish it were that simple. I didn’t understand all that much about men. I certainly didn’t know that when they started drinking they were more dangerous. But I was having so much fun and he was complimenting me on my looks and my intelligence...anyway, when he kissed me the first time, I thought it was okay. For a minute.”

  “And afterward?”

  “Something inside me said I should go to my bedroom and lock my door. But I didn’t want him to think of me as a child. So I ignored that little voice. And I paid the price.”

  “God, Libby...”

  Tears stung her eyes, though she didn’t let them fall. “It was a long time ago. And I’m fine...really I am. I just wanted you to know that I wouldn’t come to marriage unscathed, either. Not that you’ve asked me, but you know...”

  * * *

  Patrick staggered to his feet, his heart and his composure shattering into pieces like brittle glass. He went to the sofa and sat down, scooping her into his lap. For a long time, they just sat there...not speaking, her head tucked against his shoulder.

  He stroked her fiery hair, wanting desperately to find the son of a bitch with the middle name Mitch and avenge Libby’s honor.

  At last, he drew a deep breath and let go of the past that had held him with invisible chains. “I adore you, Libby Parkhurst. How could I not? You’re beautiful and brave and you have the most extraordinary outlook on life.” He tipped her backward over his arm and kissed her, shuddering with relief as she kissed him in return.

  When they separated and sat side by side, her green eyes were damp, but then his were, too, so they were even. “Don’t move,” he said.

  Her face expressed first puzzlement and then astonishment when he slid off the sofa and onto one knee, pushing the table aside. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a turquoise leather box and flipped it open. “Marry me, Libby,” he pleaded, the words hoarse, his throat raw.

  She stared at the multicarat single stone as if it were a snake. “You have a ring?”

  Her bewilderment made him feel lower than low. “Of course, I do,” he said. “I’ll change this for a diamond if you want, but I’ve always thought redheads should wear emeralds.” Libby didn’t protest when he slid the simple platinum band with the exotic jewel onto her finger.

  She held her hand up, her eyes wide. “It’s extraordinary.”

  “I have no doubts about us, Libby, not anymore. And it’s not because of your confession. You’ve opened my eyes to how stupid I’ve been to deliberately throw away something so amazingly good. I’m sorry I insulted you and fired you and tried to break your heart. I was an idiot. I bought the ring this afternoon, but then I got cold feet.” He rested his forehead against her knee. He’d said his piece. The outcome was up to her now.

  Her silence lasted too damn long. When he felt her fingers in his hair, he braced for a refusal.

  But Libby took him by surprise. She slid down beside him, her legs curled to one side. “This is a very beautiful rug,” she said. “I suppose we shouldn’t do anything to ruin it.”

  He scowled at her. “Damn it, Libby. Don’t toy with me. I’ve had a hell of a day.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “I know I said I didn’t care about other men in your life, and I really don’t, but tell me one thing. Is Spencer expecting to share your bed? He’s a big guy, and I want to know if I’m going to have to fight for your hand.”

  Libby’s eyes widened
, and she laughed, staring down at her fingers as if mesmerized by the brilliant green stone Patrick had spent several hours choosing. “Spencer is my dear friend. She and I were best buddies in school. The man you met at the loft is her husband, Derek.”

  Patrick exhaled, torn between frustration at Libby’s deliberate deception and relief that no one else had a claim on his fiancée. “You’re going to lead me in a merry dance, aren’t you? I’ll never be able to turn my back. And when you gang up with my sisters-in-law, Lord help us all.”

  He stretched out his legs and banged his shin on the table leg. “Wait a minute,” he said, aggrieved. “You haven’t said you’ll marry me.”

  “I didn’t?” Guileless green eyes looked up at him.

  He started to sweat. “Say it, Libby. Right now.”

  She sighed, leaning forward to unbutton his shirt. “Yes, Patrick Kavanagh. I will marry you. Now, are you satisfied?”

  He kissed her hard, moving over her and pressing her into the sofa. But it was a damned uncomfortable position. “I’m not satisfied at all,” he stuttered. “Bedroom. Now.” He dragged her to her feet, trying to undress her and walk at the same time. They made it as far as the still-closed door, but his patience frayed.

  He lifted her hands over her head, trapping her against the polished wood with the weight of his body. Her breasts, mostly exposed in a sexy bra, heaved.

  Libby’s gaze was dreamy. “Let’s come here for our honeymoon,” she said.

  “But during the summer. When you don’t have to wear so many clothes.” He gave up on the wrist-holding thing and unzipped her pants. “Help me, woman.”

  Finally, aeons later, they were both nude. He held her tightly, his face buried in her hair. “This is forever. I hope you know that.”

  Libby sighed deeply. “I’m counting on it, my love.”

  * * *

  Twenty-four hours later, Libby stood in one of the private salons at the Silver Beeches Lodge and hid a yawn behind her hand. The emerald ring hung on a chain tucked inside her dress. All around her, the Kavanagh family, along with an intimate circle of friends, laughed and danced and partied. Maeve, the guest of honor, beamed continuously, delighted to have all her loved ones under one roof.