He watched Bebe ease onto one of the bar chairs, tug the silk shirt down over her knees, and then reach for her mug. She sipped the hot brew with caution, blowing on the edge between sips.
He leaned against the counter and put the phone to his ear.
With a surge of possessive pleasure, he noted she wore his shirt, sipped his coffee, had slept in his bed, and she’d made love to him without holding anything back.
She fascinated him.
And he had her now.
His aroused anatomy didn’t surprise him in the least.
The man’s deep voice on the phone finally penetrated his sex-soaked brain. “What? Sorry, Officer. Would you repeat that?”
The police hadn’t found anything. They were chalking it up to a random break-in, interrupted before the guy could gather the fence-able items he’d been after. Nothing personal. Right. The ski mask and the lack of a specific physical description didn’t leave the police much to go on, but if anything turned up they’d be notified.
“Thanks, Officer.”
He replaced the receiver and moved back to where Bebe sat watching him, eyes full of concern.
“What did they find, Sam?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Maybe the break-in had nothing to do with what’s happening with my orders. With the hacker. It could be random. It could.”
“Yes, it could.” He took a swallow of coffee and wished he could go back to bed and spend at least a week reexploring every inch of Bebe’s lush body. “But we don’t really believe that, do we?” He watched her expression cloud and her eyes grow shiny with the effort not to cry.
“No.” Bebe straightened her posture and blinked away the tears that threatened.
He wanted to shred the hacker-burglar-bastard into tiny pieces and toss him, like confetti, off the Golden Gate Bridge—and he would when he caught the SOB. In the meantime he had Sugarman Financial, Waterston’s, and Bebe to watch over. The first two were easy. Bebe would take some convincing.
“I’m going to visit Gracie this morning,” she said, reaching up to adjust the chopsticks holding her hair. The silk slid dangerously up her thighs. “Maybe she’ll remember something. Then I’ve got to get back to work. Only eight more days until Valentine’s Day. I can’t let Maman down. She expects Waterston’s to do major business for the year now. It’s tradition.”
“And I’m sure it will, now that you have the supplies you need.”
He captured a red curl and enjoyed the feel of it wrapped around his finger.
“But,” he said, “it would be better if I drop you off at the factory this morning. Then, when I pick you up this evening, we can visit Gracie together.”
The mutinous expression exploding across her face told him he hadn’t phrased that suggestion with quite enough finesse. He’d have to remember she was not an employee of Sugarman Financial, and as a nonemployee she would feel no obligation to follow the boss’s orders.
Rephrase. Renegotiate.
He lowered his voice and tried for a heartfelt worried expression—better to have cooperation than resort to coercion, if possible. “It would make me feel a hell of a lot better if I knew you were safe at the factory. I have a lot to catch up on at the office, and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate if I knew you were out alone with a threat hanging over you.”
“Oh, Sam,” she said, sliding off the stool and reaching to wrap her arms around his waist, seemingly full of contrition and concern. “I don’t want you to spend time worrying about me. If you really think it’s necessary, I’ll call Gracie and explain we’ll be by this evening. Okay?”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He kissed her, lingering, easing her up onto the marble counter and sliding his palms under the silk dress shirt. “Now what’s for breakfast?”
…
As Bebe crossed the threshold of Waterston’s that morning, she turned to wave. Sam returned the gesture and then glided the big black sedan into traffic like a shark through a sea of minnows. She watched until he’d been swallowed by the congestion.
It had taken her a few minutes this morning to realize just how he’d manipulated her, but over the sizzle of bacon and the everything-in-the-fridge omelet she’d whipped together, the light had dawned.
He was really good. No wonder his father had felt comfortable making him CFO at such a young age. Sam was so unlike her papa, whom she’d learned to handle at a very tender age; Sam was a force of nature, and by the time you figured out what he was up to, he was up to something else, for your own good, of course…
She’d been about to tell him she didn’t appreciate his tactics when he’d rushed her into the bathroom, suggesting it would take less time if they showered together. And while there was a great deal to be said about the merits of two people using the shower at the same time, efficiency wasn’t one of them.
But once again she hadn’t felt like she could take him to task over his “manhandling” of the situation. Finding out how erotic a cool marble counter against hot skin—and the joys of a handheld spray head in the right hands—could be…well, her third climax had pretty much taken the edge off her outrage and turned her bones to cream ganache. She could not complain, but ask for more? Oh, yeah.
“Are you going to stare out that window until he comes back?” Angie’s voice held a definite tone of amusement.
Bebe continued to watch the flow of Monday morning traffic. A sudden chill slid across her body, raising goose bumps as it went. She hugged her camel-hair trench coat closer for warmth, glad for the layers of caramel-colored turtleneck tee and cashmere sweater-skirt she wore under it with her favorite knee-high leather boots.
“We’d all better hope he comes back,” she said as she spun around to face her assistant manager. “And that he figures out who’s hacking into our schedules, or you and I will be selling Chiclets at the border in Tijuana, instead of chocolates in Ghirardelli Square.”
“Don’t worry, boss,” Angie said, looking not the least bit intimidated. “I have it on good authority Sam’s a formidable force. If anyone can find this guy, he will.” She looked down at the clipboard she held, and then tapped the attached sheet with one bright red nail. “Meanwhile, the shipments of bitter and white chocolate arrived. I gave Greta the breakdown on the orders we have to fill so far. The whole crew has started.”
Bebe walked behind the display counter, heading for the swinging doors. “Has Papa called?”
“No.”
“Well, as Martha Stewart would say, ‘That’s a good thing.’”
…
Bebe sat at her desk, her back cushioned by the Herman Miller ergonomically correct office chair Mrs. Trumble had had delivered at Sam’s request. The high-tech device would have been more at home in Sam’s apartment than in her minuscule office, but she had to admit it felt sturdy and quite comfortable, even though a bit overwhelming in the small room. Kind of like Sam, now that she thought about it.
Four days had passed since she and Tweety had moved in with Sam. And he was driving her crazy. Like Papa hovering the night of her first real date, it seemed Sam wasn’t happy unless he could reach out and touch her. The less they could find out about the mystery hacker, the more protective he became.
He dropped her off at the factory in the morning and he picked her up in the evening. He’d posted a security guard at the rear entrance to check all deliveries and log normal traffic patterns in the alley during working hours. His mobile security force did drive-by checks through the night.
He’d accompanied her to the hospital every evening.
Gracie’s condition improved steadily, although she hadn’t been able to remember anything to help the investigation.
Gracie had, however, continued to warn her about the big man she saw in the cards and complain about having to stay extra days in the hospital.
Bebe felt like she was under siege.
Even though there’d been no new interference with her scheduled shipments, Felix, computer geek extraordinaire,
whom she’d grown quite fond of through their daily phone updates, waited like a terrier at a rat hole for the hacker to strike again. He said he had a program in place to catch the varmint, if the rat would only pop his head up one more time.
Bebe wished the rodent would hurry.
She wanted to be done with this whole mess before things got even more complicated.
Every night that she spent with Sam, and every morning that she woke up wrapped in his arms, would make it that much more painful when the situation was resolved and he went on his merry way to the next woman on the List.
The List had taken on a life of its own in her mind—pretty soon she’d be thinking of it in all capital letters…
Bebe reached for the new stack of invoices Angie had dropped in her in-basket. She had work to do. Orders to fill. Candy to make. She had no time to stew over her soon-to-vanish love life. And her heart should damn well pay attention.
If memories were the best thing she was going to get out of her time with Sam, then she was going to collect them with a vengeance. He was a man worth remembering, and she would savor every moment no matter how few they might be.
Being a modern, forward-thinking businesswoman gave her the right to run her own life and conduct her own affairs…and if that affair was with the crown prince of San Francisco’s social set, well, so be it.
The phone rang, cut off in midring. Angie must have pounced on it. Then her voice came over the intercom. “Sam’s on line one.”
“Thanks.” She picked up the phone, feeling the zip of excitement race through her as it always did when Sam called. So much for reality checks. Her brain might buy it, but her heart and body had other plans.
“Hello.”
“Hi, baby. How’s the candymaking progressing?”
“I think we’re going to make it. As long as nothing else happens, we should be ready for the rush.”
“If you need more help, just let me know.”
“Angie and Greta say we’re almost caught up. My whole crew’s going to get a bonus when this is over. And I want to repay you for what you’ve done, too, Sam.”
“That could take years.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Years and years.”
“That’s a lot of chocolate.”
“Who said anything about candy?”
“Oh.”
“We’ll discuss methods of payment this evening if you like. I’m sure we can come to an understanding. And that’s why I called.”
“To discuss payment?”
“No. About this evening. I’m going to be a little late picking you up. I have a conference call scheduled to accommodate several time zones and I think it could run a little later than usual. Will you be okay there? I could send a security team to take you home at the usual time.”
“I’ll be fine. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on. I was going to bring it home with me, but now I won’t have to. Just call me when you’re finished, so I’ll be ready when you get here.”
“And don’t worry about dinner. We’ll pick something up on the way home— What?”
Bebe heard a voice in the background but couldn’t make out the words.
“Gotta go, baby. Don’t forget to lock up and put the alarm on until I get there.”
“No, I won’t forget, baby,” Bebe said into the already disconnected line. She’d gotten used to that little slip he didn’t think she caught. She leaned back in her anatomically friendly, executive swivel chair with leather-covered armrests and placed the receiver back in its cradle. She shook her head and smiled.
She’d given up insisting she could find her way to Sam’s alone. It simply wasn’t worth the fuss. Besides, she got a little thrill every time he picked her up at work. It was like having a date for the prom with the captain of the football team. At least it was what she thought that might have felt like, since she’d never really dated in high school. Gawky teenage boys didn’t date a “Gidget”—she really hated that movie for the label and Sandra Dee for the stereotype. She’d avoided the embarrassment of not having a date for the prom by insisting she wanted to leave early on her senior trip-slash-European tour. Forty-three museums in twenty-eight days. Best of all—she hadn’t needed a date to get in.
…
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay until the big guy gets here?” Angie slid her bag off her shoulder and reached for the phone on Bebe’s desk. “I could call John and postpone.”
“No.” Bebe slapped her hand on the receiver. “I absolutely, positively don’t want you to miss your date with the Hunk. I’ll put the alarm on and be just fine.”
She pointed out the door. “Go. That’s an order.”
“I’m gone. See you in the morning.”
Angie was the last one out the rear exit.
Bebe gathered her purse, the flowers she’d bought at lunch, the sack of bread and croissants she’d picked up from the bakery two doors down, and set everything on the shipping table near the back door. She didn’t want to forget anything when Sam came for her. She threw the dead bolt and set the alarm. She’d already secured the shop entrance and turned on the evening display lights.
Completing the security check, she went back to her office to finish up. She didn’t want to spend any of the evening doing paperwork. She had other plans for Sam.
Chapter Eighteen
With the stoves turned off, the factory cooled quickly in the chilly February weather. Bebe flipped on the small space heater in the office, leaving the door slightly ajar for air circulation. With an uncharacteristic twinge of envy, she thought about Sam’s expansive office with a panoramic view of San Francisco. Glancing around her own cubbyhole, she decided as soon as Waterston’s was through this ordeal, she’d see about enlarging the office space, maybe even a window. Could they move the janitor’s closet?
The back door dead bolt thunked loudly in the silence.
What in the world? Could Angie have forgotten something?
Hinges groaned.
She got up from the chair and quietly stepped to the office door, listening for more movement.
Why didn’t Angie call out?
Pulling the door open enough to step out into the hall, she saw the bright-colored lights on the alarm boxes across from her office blink out.
Angie wouldn’t have done that without calling out a warning, and some instinct made her swallow her shout of “who’s there?” Her heart pounded so hard, so loud, she pressed her hand to her chest to muffle the sound.
Whoever was in the building had disabled the alarm.
Would that automatically trigger a response from the security service?
Bebe couldn’t remember how it worked. Dammit.
She should have paid closer attention to Angie’s demonstration of the new system.
She’d apologize tomorrow if she lived through this.
Tiptoeing to the end of the short hall, she peeked around the dividing wall into the main shipping and receiving area. A black silhouette stood before the main alarm box. When the silhouette began to turn, Bebe made a dash back to her office.
Without a sound, she closed and locked the door and turned off the light. With any luck, the would-be burglar would think he had the place all to himself…right up until the police arrived.
She grabbed the phone, beginning to punch in 911 before the receiver even reached her ear. There was no sound on the other end of the line. Dead. The phone was dead.
Now what? She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Cell phone? In her purse by the door. The door next to the alarm. Where the burglar stood.
Bebe looked around her tiny office. She needed a window. When she remodeled this room, she was going to add a one, even if it looked out over the alley. A window that opened. One big enough for her to fit through would be good.
But now she had to keep the intruder from getting into the office. She’d already pushed the lock button on the doorknob, even though Sam had classified the lock as les
s than useless.
What else?
She could shove something in front of the door. The desk?
Four men and a mule couldn’t move that old thing.
Pretend it’s a car and Sam’s trapped under it.
Bebe wedged herself between the far wall and the desk, crouching to brace her butt against it. She pushed with everything she had. The old wood mammoth budged a couple inches.
She could do this. She managed to get her feet braced against the wall, then turned to thrust both hands against the top lip. Push, Bebe, push.
The solid wood slid against the door with a soft thunk.
Now what? How would she let anyone know she was trapped in her office?
The computer monitor glared at her in the darkened room.
Maybe the darn thing could get her out of this if the intruder hadn’t disabled the cable connection. It had certainly caused her enough trouble lately; it had better help her now.
Bebe pulled the rolling chair around to the far end, wedging it between the wall and the desk. She folded herself onto it and tucked her booted feet under her, pulling the monitor and keyboard around to face her.
Felix. Please be there.
She typed an email to Felix, which was the only email address she had for Sam’s office. She told him to call Sam and 911. Burglar in the building. No phone. Locked in the office. Hurry. Then clicked send.
She heard drawers opening and closing, things crashing to the floor. The miscreant must be going through Angie’s desk, which sat in an alcove right beyond the office. He’d be ready to search her office next.
Listening so intently for new sounds, she nearly missed her computer’s message signifying new mail.
Felix! Thank God.
She pulled up his email reply: Are you all right? Have notified Sam. He’s on his way. Called 911.
Bebe wanted to reply but she was afraid the sound of the keyboard could be heard if the intruder had moved closer to her office. She tried pushing the keys with the pads of her fingers very slowly and found they made no noise. Good.
She sent her reply: Tell them to hurry.
Bride by Chocolate (Death by Chocolate) Page 16