by Eileen Wilks
And, in spite of her good sense, she enjoyed the slow slide of heat he invoked. Skin, muscles, breath – she felt each distinctly, with a physical clarity she couldn't ignore or pretend to dislike. It didn't mean anything, she told herself, except that she was female and healthy, and her body appreciated the nearness of a healthy male body.
"This is my favorite time of day," she said.
"Why is that?"
"Oh, the shadows are all long and lazy, inviting me to slow down, take a breath. In the summer it's cool enough by now to sit outside with a drink, or putter in the garden if I'm feeling ambitious. In the winter, this time of day just begs for a fire in the fireplace. The workday is over, but it isn't time for sleep yet."
"The between time," he murmured. "Between work and sleep, daylight and dark. A time of transition. That's unusual. And interesting."
"What do you mean?"
"Most people aren't comfortable with a world that isn't all one thing or the other. They don't like ambiguity." He glanced at her. "You're more comfortable with risks than a lot of people."
She laughed uncertainly. "You're reading way too much into a simple comment. I did thrive on risks once, but I've developed some sense since then."
"Maybe. I need to brief you on what to listen for at the party," he said, changing subjects as quickly and smoothly as he changed lanes, and slowing for the exit. "I told you that Murchison is making noises about pulling out of the Stellar deal."
"He'll pay a huge forfeit if he does."
"A lot less than the two million he's committed to putting up if he stays in. He's nervous," Jacob said. "I need to know why. He's made some vague claims about rumors that contradict my data on the company. That may be true. Or someone may have his financial knickers in a twist, and he's planning on saving himself at my expense." His lips tightened. "I don't intend to allow that."
She looked at the tautness in his cheeks. No, this man wouldn't let Murchison or anyone else make him pay for their mistakes. "I haven't finished digging through the report you gave me, but he's pulled at least a million out of his regular investments in the past three months. Maybe more."
"Where's he putting it?"
"I don't, know. Yet." She had some ideas, though. "Murchison is married."
He rewarded her with that sinful smile that was so startling, coming from a man who was supposed to be all ice and ambition. "Very good. Yes, the most likely reason for a married man to suddenly start hiding large sums of money is that he's anticipating a messy divorce. Which is why we're going to the party tonight."
"He's not likely to mention it."
"There will be rumors, though. There always are. Sly talk about the wife and the tennis pro, or the husband and his secretary. That's why I wanted you with me. People will look at you, see the beautiful package and not bother to look further. They'll underestimate you. If you haven't already learned how to turn that to your advantage, it's time you did. Then there's your dress."
She bristled. "What's wrong with my dress?"
"Not a thing. It's simple, elegant and you're a walking heart attack in it. Half the men there won't have enough blood left in their brains to mind their tongues the way they ought to. Another benefit of taking you to the party."
Temper crackled, a quick flame she tried to squelch. And failed. "You did warn me that you used whatever talents your employees possess. Is there anyone in particular you'd like me to seduce for you?"
"Other than myself, you mean? No," he said thoughtfully. "I prefer you to concentrate on me."
She wished that didn't make her want to laugh. Time to change the subject, she decided. "Tell me what I should know about the Murchisons that wasn't in the file."
He slid her one of those long, unreadable looks of his, but complied. For the next twenty minutes she did a fair job of pretending she had her mind firmly on business … instead of wondering if she was sure that business was all she wanted from this man.
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
The sun squatted on the horizon, round and fat and red, when they reached their destination, flooding the air with color. Murchison lived in a development zoned for the wealthy. Each house sat in isolated splendor in a landscape of rolling green studded with the knobby growth of oaks and the massed darkness of clustered pines, near-black now in the fading light.
Claire wished they could stop long enough to put the top down, then take off again, go flying through that thick, orange air. Nerves jittered under her skin as she climbed out of the car.
Who would she see tonight that she hadn't seen in six years?
It wasn't really the people she might meet that made her heart jerk in her chest and her skin feel too tight. It was a ghost. The ghost of the girl she'd been at twenty-two – that heedless, headstrong girl who had dipped into passion with all the reckless arrogance of youth.
She had been so sure. Of herself, of her heart. At first.
Memories shivered over her. She shoved them down.
Most of the guests had already arrived, judging by the number of cars choking the road that led up the small hill to the house. Jacob parked at the base of the hill. The night was unseasonably mild, pleasant enough that Claire unfastened her shawl and let it slip to her elbows as they started toward the lights and music coming from the big house.
"Mariachi music?" she said, straining to sound calm and untroubled. "An odd choice for a Christmas party."
"Laura Murchison is Mexican-American."
Though cars crowded both sides of the narrow road, there was plenty of room in the middle of it for pedestrians. Yet Jacob walked close, close enough that the sleeve of his shirt brushed her arm with every step.
"The wife he may be planning on ditching?"
"Or who might be planning on ditching him." He glanced down at her. "Nervous?"
She would have eaten worms before admitting it. "Of course not."
"Perhaps you could try picturing everyone in their underwear."
"Wh-what?" she sputtered, caught between a laugh and indignation.
"That's the advice my father gave me once when I had to give a speech. I was so terrified I thought I might throw up before I got a sentence out."
"You?" She gave him an incredulous look.
"I was the valedictorian for my sixth-grade class."
"Your elementary school had valedictorians?"
"Silly, isn't it?" His eyes looked oddly luminous in the soft light. He might have been smiling. "It was a private school. I didn't persuade my father to let me attend public school until the next year. After that experience, I never again made the mistake of competing for the top honors." He shook his head. "Thanks to my father's advice, I did make it through the speech without disgracing myself."
"You didn't puke."
"Exactly. No one laughed when they were supposed to, though."
She smiled, thinking of a sober, serious twelve-year-old Jacob, already possessed of that sneaky sense of humor. "I don't suppose you tried smiling to give them a hint when you told a joke."
"Are you kidding? My face was frozen with fear."
"According to your brother, you were born with a poker face."
"I warned you about believing him. He wasn't there when I was born, so what does he know?" He reached out to ring the doorbell
They had reached the front without her noticing. And Claire was relaxed now, the sick knot of tension dissipated, when their host came forward to greet them. Jacob had done that, with his story of terror in the sixth grade.
Kindness. It wasn't what she'd expected from the Iceman, but she was beginning to think it lay beneath every one of his confusing personas. He let his housekeeper bully him, and renovated his home so his assistant wouldn't have to climb the stairs. He hired an ex-con and offered to put up the capital for the man to start his own business. And he helped a nervous woman relax, when he shouldn't even have known she was nervous.
Kindness, she was learning, could be devastatingly attract
ive.
Andy Murchison was a tall man with thinning hair, a small paunch, and a lovely, much-younger wife. He greeted Jacob a little too heartily, paid more attention to Claire's breasts than her face and didn't offer to shake hands. "So this is Sonia's replacement," he said, smiling broadly. "I always did say you had good taste, West. Damned good taste."
"I pride myself on finding top-notch employees," Jacob said. "How pleasant to have it acknowledged. You must have heard of Ms. McGuire's skills. Or perhaps you already knew her?"
"Haven't had that pleasure until tonight. Though the name is familiar…" His glance sharpened, turning speculative.
And so, she thought, it begins.
* * *
He was aware of her. Whether he was talking to a woman who had briefly been his lover, or discussing football and stock prices with potential investors, Jacob felt the pull of Claire's presence. He'd catch the bright hint of her laughter above the other voices, glimpse the smooth slope of her shoulder or the hot flame of her hair through a parting in the crowd.
Even when he couldn't see or hear her, he knew where she was. Like the slow, subtle pull of the moon on the ocean, she drew him. He didn't approve. A man could drown in a tide this strong and heedless.
But his disapproval seem to matter. He was aware of her.
Staying beside her would have made them look more like a couple. Because she disliked that, didn't want people to think he had purchased her body along with her business skills, he'd left her on her own after the first few introductions.
It wouldn't make much difference, he knew. Most people preferred their assumptions to facts, and those who didn't think he and his assistant were already lovers would believe it was only a matter of time.
They'd be right.
Jacob hadn't lied when he told her he wanted her here to act as a second set of eyes and ears. He did. But he'd had another reason, too. He'd wanted to see how she handled herself amid the social piranhas. If he married her, the current buzz of gossip would rise to brass-band levels.
If she was still nervous, it didn't show. She chatted and listened and mingled with every appearance of ease, ignoring the speculative glances. She shone. It wasn't just the stunning face, or the sheer, sexual grace of her body. There was something about her, something special he couldn't put into words.
How many of these people knew her? Quite a few had heard of her, he thought, judging by the stiff way some reacted. He saw the way men's eyes followed her, the way women smiled at her too brightly. Or not at all. And he didn't like it. He wanted to be beside her, deflecting the sly glances, shielding her from what he'd brought her here to face.
Damn. He swirled his drink gently, knowing she stood fifteen feet away, talking to an older couple. Not looking at her, but knowing.
"Some people have all the luck," an envious voice said.
"Wade." Jacob acknowledged the other man with a nod. Bill Wade was a good friend of Murchison's. "How's Emily?"
"Fine." But the man's eyes were on Claire. She laughed at something the gray-haired man beside her said, her head thrown back slightly to reveal the clean line of her throat.
No diamonds, Jacob thought. But they would look beautiful gracing that throat.
"Why haven't you introduced me to your new assistant yet?"
"Because you're a happily married man?" Jacob said dryly.
"No one is that happily married." Wade was a chubby, forty-something-year-old man with an unfortunate fondness for custom-made boots, flashy Western shirts and bolo ties. He looked like an accountant dressed up to play cowboy. "Not that she would look at me twice with you in the picture. But a man can dream."
"I'd hate to attend your funeral, Wade. Unlike our hostess tonight, Emily does have a possessive streak. And a temper."
He chuckled. "That she does. 'Course, I like a little jealousy in a woman. Shows there's some fire."
"Mmm." Claire started to leave the group she'd been talking to. A man with a thick mustache and the controlling interest in a regional supermarket chain tried to detain her. She detached him expertly, smiling while she did it.
"Now, Andy says he prefers the shy ones, like Laura. Still waters, and all that. I don't know, though." He chuckled. "The way he's been eyeing that, ah, assistant of yours, he might be willing to make an exception. Don't think Claire McGuire is exactly the quiet type."
Jacob sipped his watery drink, looking over the heads of the crowd until he spotted Claire. "Murchison has a wandering eye, does he?"
"You don't have to worry," Wade said hastily. "He wouldn't – and even if he would, why would she? Andy ain't exactly up to your weight, if you know what I mean."
"Hmm." Jacob wondered if unearthing a scrap or two of gossip was worth wading through the midden of Wade's conversation. He looked away to pick out his next target. And stiffened.
"Did I say something wrong? Hey, West, what are you…"
Wade was still talking, but Jacob wasn't listening. He was moving. Fast.
The Lawrences were here. And they'd found Claire.
Dammit, he should have anticipated this. But he hadn't known the Lawrences were part of the Murchisons' set. He'd been to a couple of other parties here, and the Lawrences hadn't been present – but those had been smaller parties, not a big bash like this.
Claire didn't see them at first. But she must have felt something, or noticed the distress on her hostess's face. She turned. Jacob heard her reaction clearly from twelve feet away.
"Well, hell."
Jim and Sue Lawrence looked eerily the same, more like siblings than husband and wife. Each was slim, tanned, with patrician features and silvery-blond hair. Each thin, unlined face wore the same expression – anger, gathering rapidly into fury.
Jacob reached Claire's side just as the storm broke.
"You bitch." Sue Lawrence's face wasn't smooth anymore. Or pretty. "How dare you show your face here, with decent people?"
"Sue," Claire said wearily, "are you sure you want to make a scene?"
"Is it not worth the trouble unless you have the TV cameras to preen for? To tell your lies to."
Jacob spoke quietly. "Jim, maybe you should take Sue over to the bar and get her another drink."
Jim Lawrence's gaze didn't move from Claire. "Stay out of this. It isn't any of your business."
"Claire is with me."
That got his attention. "With you? What the hell were you thinking of, bringing this tramp here? Don't you know who she is?"
"I know she's my employee." Jacob still spoke quietly, but he let a trace of warning coat his voice. Claire was with him, and he wasn't going to let anyone insult her. "If you can't control yourself and your wife, you'd better leave."
"Please," Laura Murchison said. "Please, let's all stay calm."
Sue Lawrence shot her a quick glance, some of the venom she felt for Claire spilling over onto the younger woman. "You shouldn't have invited her here. How dare you invite her here!"
"She didn't know." That was Claire. "I came with Jacob, like he said. Sue, please. It's time to stop working so hard at blaming me. Ken needs your help, your support. He doesn't need—"
"Don't you tell me what my son needs!" Her voice rose shrilly. "He was all right, he was fine, until you got your claws into him – lying to him, cheating, flaunting yourself and your lovers—"
"No. He wasn't all right. He hid it well, but he wasn't all right."
"He – he—" Sue Lawrence's lips quivered. Her eyes filled. And her hand flashed out.
Jacob caught her wrist just before she connected, claws out, with Claire's cheek. "Jim," he said, not taking his eyes off the woman whose frail wrist he held. Hatred shone in Sue Lawrence's eyes as clearly as the tears that were starting to trickle down one thin cheek.
"It's your fault," she said, her voice hoarse. She seemed unaware that Jacob still held her wrist. "It's all your fault."
Andy Murchison came up then. "Hey, everyone, the bartender's getting lonely, so why don't we all move along, giv
e him something to do?"
At last Jim Lawrence moved, his body as stiff as his face, taking his wife's outstretched hand and pulling her away. He didn't speak – to her, to Jacob, to the guests who watched with all the ghoulish fascination of bystanders at a freeway accident. He put his arm around Sue's shoulders and walked away with her, all without saying a word.
"Laura," Murchison said, his face tight with displeasure. "Why didn't you do something?"
"I can't imagine what you thought she could do." Claire's lifted chin aimed a challenge at Murchison.
He looked at her as if he'd found a roach crawling through the pretty desserts set out on the buffet table near the house.
"You want to be careful of what you say," Jacob told him, and did what he'd been wanting to do all along. He put his arm around Claire.
She was shaking. The discovery infuriated him. The tremors were fine, so slight he hadn't seen them, hadn't guessed what the encounter had cost her.
"Jacob," Murchison said, "you must have known your date's presence could cause problems. I think you owe me an explanation."
"And I think you owe me two million dollars." He turned his back on the man, forcing Claire to move with him, heading toward the sliding doors at the back of the huge living room. They'd been left open in deference to the mild weather.
"You can let go now," she said as soon as they were away from Murchison. "I'm all right."
"I'm not."
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
Claire did try to pull away, but Jacob's arm tightened on her shoulders. He didn't give her much choice, short of creating a second scene, and she wasn't up to that. So she let him steer her out the glass doors onto the veranda … but that didn't explain why she kept moving with him away from the veranda, kept moving away from the house and toward the woods that bordered the yard.