The Boss Man's Fortune

by Kathryn Jensen -

  "Katie."

  She jumped.

  "Don't worry," he said quickly, "no grand inquisition."

  She turned and looked up at him from her chair. He rested his hands on her shoulders and gazed down at her. Her eyes grew bright, her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze. He would give anything to be able to haul her up into his arms and keep her there.

  "It's getting late," he said. "You should have left over an hour ago."

  She lifted a shoulder under his hand. "It's okay. There's work to be done. I don't have anywhere special to go."

  Was she waiting for dark to leave the building? Was she still running?

  "I want to kiss you." The words were out before he had time to censor the thought that had triggered them.

  She tilted her head and observed his face, as deeply contemplative and innocent as a child studying a daisy. "I would like that very much."

  She stood up and melted against him. He felt as if the universe had suddenly shrunk to the size of the one square foot where they stood. Her lips parted invitingly and he was lost.

  Ian kissed her the way he'd dreamed of kissing her ever since they'd met. He possessed her mouth, caressed the small of her back, pressed her closer still to his body. When he at last drew his head back to breathe, her eyes grew instantly wary.

  "No questions asked," he promised. "No grilling under a hot light, no demands. You make all the calls, Katie."

  A look of amazement and relief crossed her face. "Really?"

  "If that's the only way I can have you, that's what I'll take."

  Katie felt the world lift from her shoulders. Never had a man told her that he would follow her lead. Not in love. Not in family life. Not in school or business. Yet Ian, who was so accustomed to being in charge, had relinquished control to her, had blindly accepted her despite all the risks he must have perceived.

  He'd been terribly hurt before, she knew that much. He'd had a wife and, nearly, a child … and lost both. Now he was taking what she imagined must be an immense leap of faith for him. More than anything, she didn't want to disappoint him.

  Tonight they would make love. Tomorrow she would tell him who she was, why she was hiding from her family, and hope that he could understand how important it was to her.

  Right now, she wanted a lover. A grown-up, experienced, exciting lover.

  Ian's arm felt strong and warm around her waist as he led her to the leather couch in his office. They sat down together. Although she sensed a catlike, predatory tension in his body as he drew her into his arms, and his eyes revealed a hunger she hoped she could satisfy, he reined in his wilder impulses.

  Gently he brushed his lips across hers, moved his hands over her body, through her clothing. It was nice.

  But nice wasn't what she wanted. Her own needs, her own hungers were clawing at her, demanding more … wanting him to move faster. She needed hard. She needed intense. Burning and wicked and wanton. No sweet schoolboy kisses or experimental touches for her.

  Her excitement built in equal proportion to her frustration. At last Katie pulled away from Ian's tender embrace and stared him dead in the eyes.

  "No," she said.

  He looked startled, then disappointed. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to make love."

  "Ian, I'm not a child. I'm younger than you, yes, but you're not doing anything wrong by having sex with me."

  He frowned. "I just don't want to hurt you. Maybe we should go to my place. It's more appropriate."

  "I'm not a piece of Spode china. I won't break. And I don't want a change of venue. I want you … now … here." She punctuated each word with a tug at his belt buckle until it fell open.

  One dark brow lifted. "You know about this not breaking business from vast past experience?" He sounded more than a little worried.

  She laughed. "I've had boyfriends before, not a football squad."

  "Well, that's a relief."

  She yanked him down on top of her, wedged one knee between his thighs and nudged him, "I want passion, Mr. Danforth."

  "Passion." His voice sounded hoarse.

  "Do what you feel like doing, not what you think is proper. I've had proper all of my life. It's gotten damn old."

  It was as if she'd thrown an electrical switch on the man. Not one of those puny wall switches that make an ordinary ceiling light flicker on. This was the lever type she imagined a groundskeeper yanking down to set a major-league stadium ablaze in the night.

  With one hand on either side of her hips, he slid her down on the leather cushions, leaving her skirt in folds around her waist. She could feel his erection through the tissue-thin lining of her panties, rigid and hard against the tender flesh between her thighs.

  Had he been this aroused moments ago? Had he somehow managed to disguise his lust because he'd thought he should?

  Impressive self-control, the thought came to her through a hot, sensual haze. She was throbbing down there, and wondered if he could feel that deep, resonant feminine pulse.

  Then, in a heartbeat, the mere act of thinking was impossible. His mouth covered hers. She parted her lips in a gasp of pleasure as his tongue probed, demanded. His hands were loosening her clothing, dispensing quickly with blouse, bra, until she was naked from the waist up. Her breasts rubbed against the coarse linen of his jacket. The little white pearl buttons of his shirtfront lightly scraped against her nipples, sending licks of heat to heighten the blaze within her.

  Frantically she attempted to unbutton his shirt, needing to touch his flesh. But he brushed her hands aside. "No," he growled. "Like this. I want you like this."

  She, unclothed, provocative. He, urbanely dressed, her master.

  Did she mind? Not in the least.

  Relinquishing her body to him, giving him permission to take control of their pleasure … it felt right. She'd given herself over to him freely.

  Already the intensity of his lovemaking had opened new vistas of sensation. It was as if she could glimpse distant horizons she'd never seen before, feel deeper pleasure and pain than her body had been capable of until this moment. The room glimmered around them—all brass and polished mahogany and butter-soft leather. And his eyes were oh so dark above her. Every inch of him, though clothed and kept from her fingertips itching to explore, was taut with pent-up desire primed to engulf her.

  "Sorry. Buy you new ones," he growled in her ear, which made no sense at all, until she felt her panties come away in shreds at a tug of his fingers.

  Thrilled by his strength, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back against his supporting hand. His breath fell hot along her throat, across her breasts. He drew his tongue in lazy circles round one nipple then the other before falling with a throaty male groan over the easiest to reach, drawing her breast succulently, eagerly into his mouth.

  She delighted at the sensation of his teeth, his tongue, as they savored her. Tender flesh quivered and prickled deliciously with each sweep of his tongue and lips.

  "Oh!" she gasped. "Please, don't stop." She pressed his head down harder and felt herself grow wet with ecstasy.

  Ian cupped her bare bottom, moved her thighs apart and rubbed her against the coarse linen of his pants front, until she begged him again and again to take her. Her body ripened, gave way, flowed hot and steady. She moaned.

  He didn't ask if she was all right with what he was doing to her. It was as if he understood what each shiver, each subtle twitch of muscle and unlocked emotion meant. He seemed to sense, too, where and when to touch her, and just how tenderly or vigorously to create the most intense reactions in her body. She wondered, fleetingly, how on earth he was managing to control himself, for he'd been fully ready for what seemed a very long time. Pleasuring her … only her.

  "Ian!" she cried out as he slipped a hand between their bodies and touched for the first time the sex-plumped flesh between her thighs.

  "Yes, my love," he whispered.

  "I didn't know … didn't think…" It hadn't been like this before. Ever.<
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  "Don't think," he cautioned, "only feel."

  "But—"

  His lips covered hers, shutting off words she couldn't have found anyway. His fingertips sought out her sensitive, moist core, plunged within her in quick, eager thrusts, and she arched her back and rocked against his hand until the exploding waves of heat subsided within her as smoldering embers.

  "Please," she begged, weakly, "let me touch you."

  He smiled tightly. "Can't, love."

  "Why? I want to wrap my fingers around you and … oh, Ian, please!"

  "No. When I come I'm going to be in you. Touch me now, and it's a done deal." His eyes glowed darkly—a shadow of the predator again. The tiger standing over his prey. Any moment and he'd devour her.

  Then, as if he suddenly saw his limit, he reached for his zipper. Looking down she watched as he hastily freed himself from pants and briefs without removing either.

  She couldn't take her eyes off his generous, perfectly formed shaft—so hard, so satisfyingly full and long. He plucked a small foil square from his pocket and, as she admired him, he protected them.

  Katie felt an inner twinge at the reality of the moment. Now came the promise of fulfillment. Now she would be his, and he her very own.

  Then, without any effort from her, he was reversing their positions, lifting and settling her astride his slim hips as he lay back along the couch. He spread her, slid her down over him, and every inch of silken shaft brought sleeping nerves to life as he plunged deeper, deeper still within her.

  What had once been empty was full. What had once been incomplete was perfect in its completion. Now it seemed only natural that she should be drenched anew and quivering around him.

  Ian lifted and lowered her again and again as her fingers curled into the working muscles of his shoulders for support. She imagined she cried out his name but couldn't be sure. A vision of a cave in the Arizona desert appeared to her. The place where lovers' souls melded. This office was their cave. Their place to become one.

  * * *

  Eight

  « ^ »

  Ian rolled to his side, wrapping himself around Katie on the couch, sheltering her nakedness with his half-clothed body as the final pulses of masculine release and deep pleasure consumed him. The intensity of such an experience, he warned himself, would never be duplicated. What he'd just felt with her was unique, though impossible to describe.

  How could a man come away feeling vanquished after ravishing a woman? Yet that was how it seemed. As aggressively as he'd taken her, he was the one left shaken to his very core.

  Ian eased his hips back, withdrawing from her, then aligned his body with hers on the generous cushions. He cradled her against him, her long bare legs looping over the couch arm, her head pillowed on his chest. His chin settled into the auburn curls as he stroked her, calming her until the afterquakes of her climaxes subsided.

  He was so moved by her hunger for him, by his own response, he couldn't find his voice for the longest time.

  When he was sure he'd regained a near-normal ability to speak, he whispered into her ear, "That's why we can't work together."

  Katie let out a low throaty laugh. "You win. How about separate offices?"

  "On different floors … but even then." He kissed the top of her head. "I'd come prowling for you."

  "We could go to your place or mine for lunch every day."

  He choked on a laugh. What did the woman think he was made of? "I'd die of exhaustion within a week."

  "We don't want that." He felt the muscles of her cheek twitch into a smile, as if she, too, was pleased by his delight in her.

  "Not that I wouldn't thoroughly enjoy lunch in bed with you every day." He tried to find a rational way of fitting what had just happened between them into the rest of his well-ordered life. "There's just so much happening now that I have to take care of. Business comes first."

  She sat upright as she reached for her blouse on the floor and, began pulling it on, although her bra remained looped over the back of a chair. "I see. Business." Her tone was brisk, hurt.

  "Katie." He turned her to face him. "I'm not brushing you off. This isn't a one-time thing. I want you in my life. Do you understand?"

  "How in your life?" she asked warily.

  He sighed. "If tonight is any indication…" He released her, suddenly confused. How much of what he was feeling now was her magic, the lingering passion that clouded a man's mind and made him promise more than he could deliver? "Maybe this discussion should wait. I have a lot to figure out, and you still have issues to sort through." What they were, he still had no clue.

  "True," she agreed, but couldn't seem to meet his questioning eyes.

  His gut knotted. He retrieved her bra for her, and she held it in her lap as if she'd forgotten where it belonged.

  "Don't worry," he said quickly, "I'm not asking for explanations you're not ready to give just because we've become lovers. But I do want to help you any way I can. And I want you in my arms however often we can manage." He took a deep breath. "Just don't walk out of my life because you're frightened of something. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it." He hated her silence, the thoughtful pout of her lips. "Agreed?"

  "Yes." Her eyes regained some of their sparkle. She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  "Come on, get dressed." He stood up to tuck in his shirt and buckle his belt. "I'll give you a lift home."

  She smiled at him as she headed for the outer office. He followed, watching her drop her bra and shredded panties into her purse. A devilish lick of lust set him wondering if he was already capable of another—

  She touched his arm, interrupting his thoughts. "Ian, if you don't mind, I'd rather walk home."

  "Alone?" He was disappointed, then concerned. "It's late."

  "I know. But the historic quarter is perfectly safe, and I need time to do some thinking. Really, I'll be fine."

  "If you're sure," he said. But he felt compelled to take her in his arms one last time, and after a sweet, lingering kiss, he let her go.

  Ian stood alone beside her desk, thinking of her as he heard her steps fade down the corridor, smelling her on his shirt. After a while he began going through the mindless routine of shutting off the office equipment, locking away important files, turning out lights.

  The drapes in his office, luckily, had been drawn across the smoky sweep of glass overlooking the city while they made love. At that thought, another trickle of lust. She, spread out naked along beige leather. He, coming down over her.

  He closed his eyes to better hold on to the image. It slowly faded, but not without leaving him wanting her, eager for the next time they'd be together like this. And there would be a next time, he promised himself.

  But for now he let go of the thought and routine took over. He liked to come into his office in the morning to see the sun slanting through the windows, so he went to them now to open the heavy draperies.

  As if he knew she'd be there, he looked down to the street. Katie stepped out from the front entrance of the Danforth Building into a shaft of light from a street-lamp.

  He smiled, feeling as good as he'd ever felt. Better! At one time he'd believed he would never find a woman to fill his emptiness, to chase away the ultimate loss of his child's life.

  Was it possible he'd been fortunate enough to find the ideal woman to teach him to feel joy again? To heal him and give him hope?

  He started to turn away from the window when, from the shadowed alley that ran beside the building, a figure stepped out in front of Katie. Ian's heart stopped. His mouth went sand-dune dry. He stared down five stories as she spoke to the man. Someone she knew?

  Then, as Ian watched in horror, the stranger grasped her arm and started pulling her toward a car parked at the curb.

  With a curse and a surge of adrenaline, he spun away from the windows and raced for the elevator. His heart hammered within his chest as he dove into the elevator, punched the lobby button. Interminable seconds later he was rac
ing through the empty lobby, bursting between glass doors into the street. He ran toward the two figures struggling on the sidewalk.

  "Get away from her, you bastard!" he shouted.

  From the little he could see in the dark as he closed in on them, Katie's attacker seemed to be the same man who had sent her in a panicked run the other day. He wore a Stetson, western boots, and had Katie by the wrist.

  She dug in her heels, trying to resist his progress toward the car.

  In the split second before Ian rammed into the guy's gut with his shoulder, the man looked up with an expression of shock and dismay. The next moment they were both flat on the pavement, scrambling and swinging at each other. Ian rolled just far enough away to get to his knees, seize the man by the knot in his string tie and punch him in the face.

  From somewhere in the background came a strange wailing sound. Then fists were pounding on his back.

  "Don't, Ian! Oh, God, don't hurt him. Stop, stop it now!"

  Confused and distracted by her pleas on behalf of her assailant, Ian didn't see the left hook coming. Knuckles like steel ball bearings smashed into his jaw, set his head spinning. He came back with a fist to the guy's gut, which resulted in a low moan as the man collapsed onto the sidewalk, gasping for breath.

  "Go call the police!" Ian shouted over his shoulder at Katie, who was still, inexplicably, pummeling him and sobbing for him to stop. He staggered to his feet. "What?"

  "Ian," she choked out, "please don't kill my brother."

  He stared at her. "Brother?"

  She nodded meekly. "Meet my brother Dennis. Dennis," she added politely to the man still sprawled on the sidewalk, "this is my boss, Ian Danforth."

  It took a while for her words to make any sense. Ian glared at the young man who had managed to make it as far as his knees though he was still fighting for breath. When the fellow looked up at Ian with eyes as vividly green as Katie's, a trickle of blood escaping a split lip, Ian swore and held out a hand to help him to his feet.