The Boss Man's Fortune

by Kathryn Jensen -

  It didn't make a bit of sense, biologically. He knew that. She probably did, too. Maybe it was that ancient, tribal mysticism of her ancestors coming through. Maybe these things just couldn't be explained. At best, they could only be endured.

  "Perhaps you're right." He touched his lips to the soft auburn curls atop her head, grateful for this night.

  Katie shifted against him as if preparing to stand up. He felt indebted to her. He felt closer to her than he'd felt to any other human being. Ever. What had prompted him to reveal his innermost pain to a simple office clerk?

  Or had she already become more than that?

  Katie had smoothed countless shaky social interactions at the gala. She'd supported his family in a volatile confrontation with the cartel. And now she'd lessened his pain.

  "Ian?"

  He turned to her. If possible, her eyes had grown brighter. "Yes?"

  "Kiss me again. Please."

  This is a mistake, his inner voice told him. Kissing her on impulse was one thing, but kissing her deliberately was totally inappropriate.

  He was concocting a witty retort, a tactful excuse with which to escape, when she curled her knees beneath her, swiveling on the cushion, and pinned his face between her two small hands. She planted her lips firmly over his.

  There isn't a man on earth who can say no to this, the same voice said. Damn right, he thought, and kissed her back.

  Ian wrapped his arms around her, bringing her against his chest, pinning her tiny frame to his, even though she gave not the least hint of struggle.

  Time stopped. The world dropped away, and he with it. All consciousness of the details of life were swept away, like a storm blowing clean, fresh air over the ravished land. He felt only her. Knew only Katie.

  Ian's lips found her throat, then her cheek, the tender indentation of flesh at her temple, her mouth again and again. It seemed impossible to stop kissing her. Everywhere. Impossible, too, to keep his hands quietly on her back. They'd begun to wander to places soft and warm and hidden beneath her gown but intimately definable by touch.

  Her breasts, her waist, the lush fullness of her hips. At last out of breath, he turned his head to one side and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his thoughts just long enough to stop acting on impulse and understand what was happening.

  "Ian?" Her voice quivered.

  He hoped to God he hadn't embarrassed or upset her. "Yes?"

  "It's all right. I understand."

  "You do?"

  She shifted gently out of his arms, and he ached to pull her back into his embrace. But he restrained himself.

  "It's a terrible thing to lose a child," she whispered. "You needed this … to be touched by someone. To remember life goes on."

  "I'm sorry if I—"

  She pressed two fingers across his lips. "Hush. It's forgotten. And now I need to get some sleep."

  "Of course. Thank you, Katie, for tonight."

  Still under the spell of her, still reeling from the sensations of her body pressed to his, he deliberately walked out her apartment door. He took the elevator down to his car, climbed into the driver's seat but didn't start the engine.

  For a very long time he sat there, trying to figure out if she was right. Had he just needed someone—anyone—to hold him? Or had he stumbled over feelings, hungers, desires far too complex and way too hot for him to handle?

  * * *

  Five

  « ^ »

  By Wednesday of the next week, Katie was nearly beside herself. Neither she nor Ian had mentioned those breathless, confusing, delicious moments at her apartment following the gala. In fact, to any outside observer, their working relationship would have seemed absolutely proper and detached.

  But in her heart, Katie knew that something powerful had happened that night, and it had changed them both.

  That was why she was afraid.

  Terrified, really, because as much as she liked and admired Ian for being strong in the face of thugs and for blaming himself when a baby that was never meant to be born didn't have a chance to draw a single sweet breath, as much as she believed he was a very good man, and as deeply as she'd been touched by him … she knew it would be her ruin to let herself fall in love with him.

  Why?

  Because, she answered her own question, he's too much like all the men in my family.

  It was true. Ian Danforth had grown up in a privileged world. Although she was fascinated by his worldliness, at least some of it due to his being thirteen years older than she (she had peeked at his file), she knew what men like Ian did to their women. They controlled them.

  Not always cruelly, though. Her father was never mean to her mother or to her. He clearly adored both of them. But sometimes his love came too close to smothering her. And her mother often seemed to make the situation worse by siding with him.

  Her parents had orchestrated every facet of her life, from choosing her childhood friends to selecting a college for her and dictating what she did after she graduated. Which was mostly stay near home and prepare to marry. They'd made numerous blatant and embarrassing attempts to match her with some of the Southwest's most eligible bachelors. No doubt with good intentions. They wanted her to be safe and happy, to provide them with lots of grandchildren and never have to worry about how to feed them.

  She had balked … and eventually run.

  She wasn't about to leap out of that pot straight into Ian Danforth's fire.

  This was her life, and she would live it her way.

  Meanwhile, though, she wasn't sure how she'd continue functioning around the man in his office. Every time he entered her work area, she imagined his arms closing around her, the intensity of his kisses, the yearning telegraphed through every muscle and sinew of his hard body.

  Even now, just remembering, she became a puddle.

  "Ms. O'Brien?"

  "Huh? I mean … yes, sir?" She stared at the intercom on her desk, but the call button wasn't lit. A subtle movement caught the corner of her eye, and she turned with a start at the appearance of a sandy-beige pant leg beside her chair.

  "Are you all right?" Ian asked. "I've been buzzing you."

  "Sorry. I was preoccupied." Katie turned away, unsettled by the proximity of his zipper, eye level. She felt herself go hot in the cheeks, and stifled a jittery giggle. Grow up, she told herself.

  But when she did manage to meet Ian's rich hazel eyes, her heart thrummed in answer to them. Steady, girl!

  How she wished Katie, the real Katie O'Brien, were still in town. She would be able to talk her out of this insane infatuation. Katie might come up with devil-may-care plots, like this switching identity thing, but she could be very levelheaded about men. Her friend would remind her why she'd left home in the first place, and of all she had to gain by remaining independent.

  Wasn't the real Katie having the time of her life in Europe this very moment? Free as a bird. Doing as she pleased. No man to tell her she should be doing one thing when she wanted to do another.

  Katie straightened up and folded her hands on the desk, pretending composure. "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"

  Ian scowled down at her, looking vaguely befuddled by her behavior. "Have the newspapers arrived yet?"

  "No, sir. Are you expecting anything special in them?"

  "One of the reporters at the gala mentioned she thought her article on the homeless would run in today's paper. I want to see it as soon as possible, in case we need to run damage control on behalf of my father."

  "I'll bring them to you as soon as they arrive." She reached for a file, feigning involvement in a critical task when he didn't immediately leave.

  "Katie," he said.

  She didn't look up. Please, God, don't let him ask about that night! "Yes?" She held her breath, but after a moment he just sighed.

  "Never mind. I'll be in my office."

  "Right." She heard his door close and only then released the breath she'd been holding.

  * * *


  The papers had arrived. The Savannah Morning News, Washington Post, New York Times, Saint Louis Dispatch, L.A. Times, Houston Chronicle and Wall Street Journal. Seven arrived every day, delivered by a local news service.

  Ian tracked business and political news in all areas of the country where D&D's coffee shops were located. Although he had a clipping service for any direct mention of the company or the family, he liked a broader picture of their shops' communities.

  Katie thanked the deliveryman and pulled out the Houston paper, which was the one nearest her own hometown. She checked every day, just in case.

  The headline warned of oil prices skyrocketing. Nothing new there. She shrugged and was about to turn to the society pages when a photo just below the fold on the front page caught her eye, and she nearly shrieked.

  Her … it was her!

  The professional photo had been taken on the eve of her "coming out" in Tucson. Her natural dark brown hair was arranged in a sophisticated coif on top of her head. The white satin bodice hugged her torso but revealed bare shoulders. A string of pearls—her grandmother's—clasped delicately around her throat.

  If she hadn't been left gasping for breath at the sight of the photo, the caption beneath would have done the job: Disappearing Heiress Spotted In Bus Station!

  Oh no, no, no…

  Katie went numb. She gripped the top of the desk for support. Her heart in her throat, she read quickly, soaking up word after horrifying word.

  The article quoted a man who believed he had seen a young woman matching her description in the Greyhound terminal in downtown Saint Louis—the very one she'd passed through on her way across the country to Georgia. The time and date matched her two-hour layover there.

  Katie's stomach lurched. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest, unable to find a steady beat.

  Without thinking twice, she stuffed the Chronicle into her top desk drawer, then hastily scanned the other papers. Nothing about her in them yet. Maybe this would be the end of it. Maybe other editors would find much more important stories to cover, and soon even the southwestern papers would forget about her.

  She delivered Ian's stack of crisp newsprint to him. He glanced up at her, but she turned and hastily walked away, hoping he wouldn't notice he was short one city.

  "Wait."

  Katie bit down on her lower lip. She poked her eyeglasses back up the bridge of her nose and came around to face him again.

  "Is something wrong, Katie?"

  "No. Nothing." She produced a wobbly smile.

  "You look awfully pale."

  She lifted one shoulder. "Just tired, I guess." She forced herself to walk calmly back to her desk and sit down, when she felt like running from the building.

  It wasn't just being discovered that worried her. She was thinking about her parents and the rest of her family. Not until this moment had it struck her how worried they might be about her.

  The article had included an emotional quote from her father: "If someone out there has our daughter, please know that we'll do anything, give anything they require to return her to us."

  Did they think she'd been kidnapped? Hadn't they found the note she'd left in her room telling them she'd needed to be on her own? Assuring them she'd be all right?

  Then later in the article, her father's attorney: "Katherine, if you're able to contact us, please do. Your parents only want to see you safely home again."

  Safely home again. Wasn't that the point?

  She didn't want to be protected, to be made safe like a helpless child when what she needed was a life of her own! If she made mistakes, so be it—they would be hers to make!

  Who in this world today could claim immunity from strife? Life was unpredictable by its nature. Shouldn't she get used to facing challenges on her own?

  As much as Katie longed to reassure her family that she was all right, she couldn't take that risk. Not yet. Once she'd proved to herself, and them, that she could do for herself, she'd tell them where she was.

  In the meantime, perhaps she could come up with a way of communicating to them that she wasn't in danger. A way that wouldn't disclose her whereabouts—because she was certain that if her father and uncles ever found out where she was, they'd come after her and drag her home.

  * * *

  Ian barely glanced at the newspapers that morning. After quickly flipping through the stack to make sure nothing unsavory had been printed about Abraham or the family, he pushed them aside and stared out the expanse of tinted glass overlooking his beloved Savannah.

  The view used to excite him. He could almost feel his heart pumping in time to the slow but steady rhythm of the city. He'd survived bitter disappointment and loss, much as this city had survived a bloody civil war, but only after sacrificing many of her sons. It was no small miracle that she hadn't been burned to the ground like other Southern cities. It seemed an equal miracle that he'd somehow struggled on after the loss of his son.

  His work for the family company had kept him sane, kept him going, day after day. Then his father had stepped down, leaving Ian as CEO, and Ian had told himself that this would be enough. He'd dedicate his life to the firm, to growing Danforth & Danforth into one of the most powerful import businesses in the U.S.

  But it wasn't enough. Not by a long shot. He knew that now.

  It was all Katie O'Brien's fault.

  She'd awakened him to the prospect of living again in the most provocative way. She'd enticed him, soothed him, made him sit up and take notice of her as an extraordinary, sexually desirable woman. She'd challenged him to look beyond his loss.

  But he wasn't ready to do that … not yet. So he had to do something about her.

  He had to separate himself somehow from her, regain his balance. As long as she was careening around his office, he was useless. Aside from her habit of moving the furnishings and questioning his directives, she made him think about doing wicked, delicious things to her.

  And these things were the sort a man shouldn't even consider doing during work hours.

  The company needed a CEO with both feet on the ground, his mind firmly on business. But Holly still hadn't found anyone suitable for a permanent EA, so maybe another temp was the answer.

  He picked up his phone, hit the button for the outer office. "Katie, have you had lunch yet?"

  "No, sir."

  Damn, just hearing her voice set off a chain reaction of nerves that ended with fireworks in his lap. He shifted in his chair and tried to ignore them.

  "I need to speak with you about something important. Would you mind taking lunch with me downstairs at the coffee shop?"

  There was a moment's hesitation, as if she already suspected his motives. "Fine with me."

  Ian hung up. It had to be done. There was no other way.

  He hardly glanced at Katie as he whisked past her desk and through the door toward the elevator. Trusting that she followed, he hit the down button, waited, then strode through the doors the moment they swished open. He felt Katie's presence as she stepped in beside him, but didn't dare look directly at her.

  She was trying to make eye contact, he could tell, but he wouldn't allow even this simple connection between them until they were safely in public view. There was a limit to how much temptation he could take.

  They found a table and ordered—a seafood salad for her, a hearty burger with Swiss melting over it for him—and still he hadn't really looked at her. He bit into his burger, tasting nothing, chewed with a good show of concentration and enjoyment. At last, he shifted his attention from the food to her.

  She was sitting very still. He noticed she hadn't touched her salad.

  "Aren't you hungry?" he asked.

  "You're going to fire me, aren't you?"

  Her tone was heartbreaking. He cringed. "Katie, I'm not going to fire you."

  "What then? Have I made some sort of awful mistake? Did I do something wrong? I like to handle things my way and that may not be your way, but I've gotten everything done that yo
u asked, one way or another."

  "Yes, you have." He pushed his plate away. The burger lay heavily in his stomach. "And your energy and dedication are deeply appreciated." Even though she had wreaked havoc on his ability to complete any work at all. "The thing is, a temporary clerical assistant is just that. We never expected you to be with us for more than a week, at most two."

  "So you said the day I arrived. Are you telling me now that you've found a permanent EA?"

  "Actually, no. But it's been over two weeks and I think it would be to your benefit as well as ours for you to move on."

  Her face fell. "Leave Danforth & Danforth? But I like it here. I really do!"

  "We try to make everyone feel like family here. I'm glad you've enjoyed being with us." He forced a smile, feeling like a creep for shoving her out. "But I think we might use the job you have now as a testing ground for candidates, you know, for the permanent position."

  "I could do that," she said quickly. "Be your real executive assistant."

  "No. No, you couldn't," he said cautiously.

  "Why? I'm not good enough?"

  "You need a little more experience, that's all."

  "I could get it while I'm working for you. Everyone needs some training."

  "I … you—" Dammit, was there any way to avoid saying the words? He looked around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. He whispered, "Katie, it was all my fault, what happened in your apartment. I should never have kissed you. I overstepped my boundaries as an employer."

  Strangely, she looked suddenly brighter, then he saw the mischief in her eyes. "If you recall, sir, I was the one who kissed you the second time."

  He glanced around once more, but the nearby tables were empty and the level of chatter in the coffee shop was so high he was certain no one could hear them.

  "I am very attracted to you," he confessed. "The fact is, I'm finding it damn difficult to get anything done with you around."

  She beamed at him. "I thought it was just me."

  "Pardon?"

  "I thought maybe I was the only one attracted. I like you an awful lot, Ian."

  "Katie, no."

  "There's nothing wrong in that," she insisted. "What's awful is when one person does and the other doesn't."