Irresistible You

by Francis Ray

  “Perfect.” His eyes watched Sabra. “Ten minutes sounds fine. We’ll wait across the street. Thanks.” He hung up. “Done.”

  “I should say it’s too much trouble, but I won’t.”

  Pierce curved his arm around her waist, and they started walking back. “Food is a serious business to Brandon. He likes taking care of people, and serving them the best food possible is his way of doing it.”

  “I can tell.” She looked at Pierce in the streetlight. “But I see the same quality in all of you. It’s the best or not at all.”

  “Perhaps because you see that in yourself as well. That’s why this new direction you’re going in is a bit frightening.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, then snapped it shut. “I can’t make the wrong decision. Audiences aren’t always forgiving.”

  He stopped and, in the light of the streetlight, stared down into her face. “Then do what pleases you. At least you’ll have that satisfaction.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do, but the answer doesn’t come easy.”

  “It shouldn’t be. If it were easy it wouldn’t mean as much to you.” His hand swept a stray curl back beneath her hood. “Big decisions that impact our lives should make us sweat a little bit.”

  Seeing him, caring about him, was certainly doing that. “We better get moving or we won’t make it in time.”

  “Wouldn’t want that to happen.” His hand slid down to hers, their fingers entwined.

  PIERCE KEPT SABRA COMPANY AT THE KITCHEN TABLE while she ate her food, complimenting Brandon throughout the meal. Finished, they’d left Isabella gnawing on a bone Brandon had sent and gone to sit on the sofa in the great room. Sabra turned on the television, but neither paid much attention to the program.

  “How about breakfast in the morning?”

  Disappointment and guilt warred within her. “I’m sorry; I have an appointment,” she told him.

  “You have early practice?” he asked, his fingers playing with the hair falling over her shoulder.

  She might have known an inquisitive man like Pierce wouldn’t let it go at that. “No. A woman can’t tell all her secrets,” she teased.

  His hand lifted her hair, wound it around his finger, his eyes meeting hers. “A waste of time and money.”

  Her eyebrow arched.

  Still holding her hair, he gently touched her cheek. “Nothing any man can do will improve on how beautiful you look.”

  She hated misleading him, wished there was another way. “You should see me in the morning when I first wake up.”

  “It’s one of my most recurring thoughts.” His voice dropped to a soft rumble that Sabra felt all the way to her toes.

  She flushed as she thought of them in her bed together. He wasn’t the only one. “Pierce.”

  “Sorry, I forgot.” His free hand took hers. “It’s easy to forget when I’m this close to you.”

  Since she felt the same way, she believed him. “How about dinner?”

  “There’s a festival this week. We could take in the sights and have dinner afterwards,” he countered.

  “Wonderful.”

  “Good. Now I better get out of here and let you rest.” Standing, he pulled her to her feet and went to the door. “I’ll see you around seven.”

  “All right.”

  He leaned forward to brush his lips against hers, then drew her closer and deepened the kiss. Sabra let her mind empty and enjoyed letting Pierce fill it with sensations that caused her body to hum, her breasts to grow heavy with need.

  His mouth lifted. “Night.”

  “Night.” Sabra stared at the closed door, then leaned her head against it. Pierce could become a complication if she let him.

  Or was it already too late?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SABRA ARRIVED AT SAM GARNER’S OFFICE TEN MINutes before her 9:00 A.M. appointment. The first thing that caught her eye when she opened the door was the elk head over what she assumed was the door to his office. At that moment she could have crossed him off her list. No one in her family believed in killing for sport.

  “You must be Ms. Raineau.”

  Sabra switched her attention to the thin gray-haired woman in a dark conservative suit behind an L-shaped desk. Too late to leave, Sabra smiled charmingly. “Yes. Good morning.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Raineau. Mr. Garner said to send you right in.” Smiling, she opened the door beneath the elk head. “Ms. Raineau, sir.”

  A barrel-chested man rose from behind an oak desk. He appeared to be in his late fifties, balding and trying to hide it with a bad toupee. “Ms. Raineau, what a pleasure. Please have a seat.”

  Sabra took the chair and pulled out a copy of her last bank statement. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m on a tight schedule.”

  “Of course not.”

  Sabra could tell the exact moment he saw the balance. She hoped the man never tried to play cards. He’d lose his shirt.

  “You say you’re looking to add a few investments?” He rounded the desk, the bank statement still in his hand.

  “Yes. As I explained, I’ll be here for three more weeks and I thought I’d see if a financial consultant and I clicked.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Santa Fe is growing. When a city grows, there’s always money to be made. I’d like some.”

  “How much of this are you willing to invest?” he asked, the paper shaking just the tiniest bit.

  She couldn’t help but compare him to Pierce. He’d never let anyone see him sweat, or let them see how much he wanted something. Unless—

  “Ms. Raineau?”

  Sabra chastised herself for letting her mind ramble. Garner wasn’t the one, but if he broke his word and discussed her visit with anyone, she wanted him to be convinced of her sincerity. “Just thinking. Probably eighty percent.” She leaned back as his thin eyebrows shot up. “I’m in negotiations to sign a contract that will make that one seem like pocket change.”

  He licked his lip. “You’ve come to the right place.”

  She thought of Pierce’s lips, how they teased, appeased. She twisted in her seat. Concentrate. “Prove it. Make me believe you can handle my money.”

  Garner set off on a long dialogue of his accomplishments in the past ten years. When asked if any of his advice had ever lost his clients money, he’s been candid enough to say there were always risks with speculation. Her father had said the same.

  Twenty minutes later, she decided she’d spent enough time not to arouse suspicion. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Garner. I’ll be in touch.” Picking up the statement, she placed it in her handbag.

  He rounded the desk. “If you need any more information about me or the firm, just let me know.”

  “I will and, as we discussed, I’d like this to be confidential.” Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t want anyone handling my finances who can’t be trusted.”

  His barrel chest expanded. “Honesty and integrity are the cornerstone of our business.”

  “Glad to hear it. Good day.” Sabra walked from the office and hailed a taxi. Her next appointment was in thirteen minutes.

  SABRA WAS RUNNING LATE FOR REHEARSALS. THE appointment after Garner had taken longer than expected. She couldn’t stop the man from talking after he’d seen her bank statement. His office had been ultramodern with glass and chrome, a bit more upscale than Garner’s, but if she were really looking, she would have gone with Garner. Campbell talked so much, he’d never listen to what you wanted.

  Rushing up the steps, she opened the door and almost bumped into Raven. The other woman had her slim arms wrapped around several books. This morning her long black hair flowed down her back. “Oh, Raven. Morning. Sorry.”

  “Morning. Going to rehearsals?”

  Sabra glanced at her watch again. “Yes, and I’m late.”

  “Were you with Pierce?”

  Sabra’s head snapped up. She tried to remember that this woman was a friend of Ruth’s. “I don’t think that’s any of your conce
rn.”

  Raven casually shifted the heavy books in her arms. “It could be, if we’re both interested.”

  So she’d been right. “But he’s only interested in one of us.”

  “You know this how?” Raven asked with a tilt of her brow.

  Sabra thought of the mind-altering kiss she and Pierce had shared, the tender way he held her, humored her. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

  “I only trust what I can see or feel,” Raven said, her gaze direct and challenging.

  Sabra didn’t doubt the woman for a moment, but she also didn’t doubt that Pierce wasn’t the kind of man who played with women’s feelings. “Sounds like a personal problem to me. Good-bye.”

  Sabra continued down the hall, unable to believe she’d been challenged over Pierce. For good measure, she put a little something extra in her step, sure Raven was still looking. Opening the auditorium’s door, Sabra looked back, and sure enough, Raven remained unmoved. Then the other woman did something totally unexpected; she gave an exaggerated bow, as if admitting defeat.

  Sabra laughed, then bowed her head in acknowledgment that she had a clear field with Pierce. The laughter abruptly died. She might not have any competition, but exactly what was she going to do with her prize?

  Heaven help her. She had no idea. No, that was a lie. She had lots of ideas; she just wasn’t going to act on them.

  Pushing the wooden door open wider, she entered the auditorium, hoping she was right.

  WORK CAME BEFORE PLEASURE.

  It was an axiom that Pierce had grown up with. For the past three days he’d been neck high in paperwork. There had been times in his life that he hadn’t been pleased that work interfered, but never had he regretted it as much as today. There was no way he would be able to finish up the report for Standext Oil Company and take Sabra out tonight, either.

  He’d come to that unavoidable conclusion a little after one that afternoon and he’d left a message on her phone. He’d hated to cancel that way, but he didn’t have her cell number and he certainly wasn’t going to call his mother and ask her to have Sabra call him. Nor had he wanted to leave the message with Isabella’s sitter.

  Standext Oil Company was a lucrative account, running into the millions. The privately owned family business included vast amounts of property and had valuable oil and gas leases in Texas, New Mexico, Louisiana, and Arizona. Their investment portfolio was several inches thick. Toliver Yates, the patriarch and CEO, was one of the clients when James Robinson had conned him. At least that was what he’d called himself. He’d used forged identification and references, and he’d disappeared after leaving Santa Fe. Luke hadn’t been able to track him. Yates, a referral from Pierce’s cousin, Daniel Falcon, had lost a hundred thousand dollars in the con and could have bailed. He hadn’t.

  “Mistakes happen. It’s how you react to them that counts. You won’t be taken again.”

  Pierce hadn’t. He checked and rechecked facts. No one was going to get one over on him or his clients ever again. Yates had kept Pierce as his investment counselor. He was one client whom Pierce never would disappoint.

  Pierce clicked on the chart with Yates’s foreign investments, noting they had inched up half a percent. Yates had enough money to take a hit and not flinch, but Pierce planned on keeping an eye on the volatile stock, although they had a stop order already in place.

  The knock on the door brought his head up. His brow bunched, then cleared. Sierra. She’d stop by at times to talk or to bring him food if he worked late. “Sierra, come in. I hope you have food.”

  Sabra came in instead, wearing a peach-colored camisole top that made her skin glow and a short white skirt that made his blood run hot. In her hand was a wooden picnic basket. “You’re in luck.”

  Standing, he came around his desk, his gaze drinking her in, the long hours at the computer, the stiff neck and shoulders forgotten. “What are you doing here?”

  Smiling, she held up her basket. “One guess.”

  He’d been a bit concerned that she might not understand. He should have known better. “I’m sorry I’ve had to keep leaving messages on the phone.”

  “Things happen,” she said easily, smiling up at him.

  His hand brushed the hair away from her exquisite face. “I’m not sure I’d be so forgiving.”

  Her beautiful eyes widened. She glanced at his computer. “How’s it going?”

  He would let her escape and change the subject . . . for now. “It’s getting there.” Taking the basket in one hand and her arm in the other, he seated her on the love seat near the window and placed the basket on the glass-topped table.

  Sabra scooted forward and cleared a space on the coffee table. Opening the basket, she took out a large red napkin square and spread it on the table. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Starved.” He moved the basket aside to give her more room and chuckled at the amount of food she placed on the napkin. “Although I don’t think I can eat all this.” There was a four-inch-thick po’boy, filled with grilled chicken, cheese, and veggies.

  “We’ll see.” Sabra handed him another napkin and a plate with half of the foot-long sandwich and homemade potato chips. “Brandon said you love grilled chicken.”

  “You went by the restaurant?” Pierce bit into his food.

  She looked unsure just for a moment. “I wanted to see if you’d ordered takeout and see if you’d mind if I interrupted you.”

  “Thank you, and you can interrupt me anytime.”

  “How much longer?”

  Pierce looked at his desk. “Two hours, if I’m lucky.”

  She took out a clear plastic container with a large slice of carrot cake. “I hope your being with me didn’t get you behind.”

  “Put that thought out of your head,” he said, unwilling to have her worry. “A client is flying in tomorrow unexpectedly and wants an update on his account.”

  She unscrewed the top of a fizzy raspberry soda. “I don’t guess it occurred to you to tell him you need more time.”

  “Even if he wasn’t one of my wealthiest clients, he’s entitled to have an accounting update whenever he wants.”

  Sabra looked thoughtful. “Your clients come first, huh?”

  “They trust me with more than their money. They trust me with their hopes and dreams. I can’t, won’t, let them down.”

  She nodded. “My father thought—” She stopped suddenly and looked away.

  His hand covered hers. “It’s all right to miss him.”

  Her gaze came back to his. “I think you would have liked him.”

  “I certainly like his daughter.”

  A slow smile took the shadows from her face. “Flatterer. Now finish so I can get out of your way.”

  He did just that. His meal over, he helped her pack things back into the basket, then walked her to the elevator and pushed the call button. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  His hand circled the back of her neck and pulled her to him. His mouth fused with hers; the kiss energized him and filled him with need. Dimly he heard the elevator door open behind them.

  Reluctantly, he lifted his head. “Thanks. Tomorrow night. Eight sharp.”

  Her breath labored, her eyes slowly opened. “Tomorrow night.”

  Pierce watched her enter the elevator, the doors slide closed. He wanted to go with her. One day. He turned back to his office.

  I HAVE TO BE MORE CAREFUL.

  The thought had drummed in Sabra’s head the night before when she’d left Pierce and again now as they sat across from each other in a restaurant in Casa de Serenidad. She’d almost admitted her father had felt the same way about the clients he represented. The slip could have exposed her. She wasn’t supposed to know anything about investments.

  She hated having to censor every word with Pierce. Especially when he was so open with her.

  “You’re quiet this evening.” Pierce sat across from her at a small table in a quiet corner.


  “Just thinking.” She sipped her wine. “I’m glad things went well with your client today.” She’d asked as soon as Pierce had picked her up that evening.

  “He wanted to meet you.”

  Surprise widened her eyes. “Me?”

  Pierce leaned forward; the flicker of the candle made his skin even more golden. “He loves the theater and had read an article that said you were going to be here working with Ruth Grayson.”

  “Why do I get the impression you weren’t pleased?”

  Pierce stared down at his drink, then lifted his dark head. “Men fall all over themselves for you.”

  “But I don’t fall back,” she said, holding his dark gaze.

  “I know.” His hand covered hers.

  “Sabra?”

  She glanced up, then jumped out of her seat, hugging the slim man as tightly as he hugged her. “Chad, it’s great seeing you! What are you doing here?”

  He waved an expressive hand. “Don has a house here, and we flew in on his Gulfstream for a couple of weeks. What brings you here?”

  “Special project with my foundation.” She turned to Pierce. “Pierce Grayson. Chad Marshall, a good friend and fabulous fashion designer.”

  Pierce nodded. The man did the same, then turned his attention back to Sabra. Casually, he took her hand and twirled her in the sheer knee-length black chiffon dress. “I’d feel crushed that you’re not wearing my design, but since you look so fab I can’t.”

  “Good, because I had one on the other night.” She smiled. “A week without wearing one of your designs is a week that isn’t lived.”

  He touched his heart. “Music to my ears.”

  “And your bank account.” She laughed.

  “You were always sharp.” The willowy man looked at Pierce. “Do you mind if she comes to our table and says hello?”

  “No,” Pierce lied.

  “I’ll bring her back.” Chad placed his hand in the small of Sabra’s naked back. Pierce didn’t expect the rage that swept through him. He felt the imprint of the crystal stem in his hand and slowly uncurled his fingers.

  The table wasn’t that far away. There were three men and two women, all young, good-looking, and fashionably dressed. A broad-shouldered man stood, urging Sabra to sit. She glanced over her shoulder at him, gave a tiny wave, and then sat. Usually it was Pierce who could walk away with a smile and a wave.