by Ginna Gray
"Why did you do that?"
"Why? I should think that was obvious. I didn't want to let you go."
"But that was rude."
"Was it? Too bad," Dirk said, without a hint of remorse. "But don't worry, Jack will get over it."
Alissa stiffened, but he pulled her closer and maneuvered them to the other side of the dance floor.
Dirk was usually so in control and forceful that she had expected him to move mechanically, but he was a surprisingly good dancer, his rangy body gliding to the rhythm with fluid grace. The music flowed around them, slow, soft and sexy.
Alissa tried to relax and enjoy the moment, but it was no use. She was wound tighter than a cheap eight-day clock.
Finally the song ended. This time, before Dirk could sweep her away again, she took a quick step back and pulled free of his embrace. "Thank you for the dance—"
"Why stop? The set isn't over," he said, reaching for her again.
Alissa put her hands behind her, then grimaced when she realized how childish the move must look. "If we dance any more, there really will be talk. Besides, shouldn't you be getting back to Miss Hollingsworth?"
"Diedre Hollingsworth isn't here. We're no longer seeing one another socially." A hint of amusement flickered across his face. "Actually, my relationship with Diedre ended at lunch that day I ran into you and your friends in Alberto's."
Ah, so that was why the woman had left the restaurant in such a huff. She had just been dumped. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. But whoever your date is, I'm sure she's getting annoyed by now."
"I didn't bring a date."
Surprise darted through Alissa. Dirk always brought a date to these affairs. Even at the company picnics, he always had some lovestruck female in tow.
"Oh. I—I see." She backed up another step. "Well, regardless, I really do have to get back to my friends." And then hightail it out of here as fast as I can, she added silently.
"I see." He smiled, and the gleam in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. "In that case, before you go, there's one more thing."
"Yes?" she asked cautiously.
Smiling, he glanced upward. Alissa followed the direction of his gaze, and her eyes widened when she spotted the clump of mistletoe hanging from the chandelier directly overhead.
Her gaze snapped back to his face. "Y-you wouldn't." But he would. She could see the unholy gleam in those silvery eyes. Her heart began to beat in double time. Her brain screamed, "Run!" but her feet seemed to be stuck to the floor.
Before she could shake off the dazed paralysis and back away, he reached out and pulled her into his embrace.
"No, you mustn't—"
Alissa's startled protest was cut off, swallowed up by Dirk's mouth, as there, in the middle of the dance floor, in full view of most of the Houston office staff, he held her close and kissed her.
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
The kiss was stunning.
It shattered Alissa's senses and left her reeling. This was no playful holiday peck beneath the mistletoe. This was a breath-stealing, passionate kiss of pure seduction.
He did a thorough job of it, taking his time, savoring every touch and taste and nuance. His lips rocked over hers as if he were a gourmet savoring a delicious delicacy. His arms held her tight, while his tongue plunged slowly in and out of her mouth in an erotic mimicry of a much more intimate embrace.
Sensations bombarded Alissa from all directions—incredible, vivid sensations—passion and hunger, raw sexual attraction. She was acutely aware of the hardness of his body, the unyielding power of his arms around her, his heat. She felt the thud of his heart against her breasts, and his breath skittered across her cheek. The taste of wine lingered on his tongue, and his potent male scent invaded her being with each shallow breath she drew, making her head spin and rendering coherent thought impossible. All she could do was absorb the bombardment of feelings and cling to him, her hands clutched in his ruffled shirtfront.
"Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo!"
"Way to go, man!"
"Somebody get a hose!"
"Now, that's what I call a kiss!"
"Hell, I've seen fewer sparks at a three-alarm fire!"
The hoots and clapping and ribald shouts finally penetrated the sensual fog that surrounded Alissa. She stiffened and pushed against Dirk's chest. He took his time releasing her, but he finally raised his head, and she stepped back on wobbly legs.
Heat suffused her entire body, and she was shaking, but she gathered her tattered dignity around her like a shield. When her gaze met his intense stare, she lifted her chin.
"If you're quite through humiliating me, Mr. Matheson, I'll say good-night," she said in a shaken voice.
"What? No, you don't under— Alissa wait! Come back!"
Ignoring him, she fled through the crowd of dancers as fast as she could, blindly pushing aside anyone who got in her way.
"Alissa! Wait!"
Dirk started after her, but Hugh McDougal, the director of shipping, stepped in his path. Six foot five and barrel-chested, with a head of bushy red hair, Hugh was a bear of a man. He was also, at that moment, more than a little tipsy.
"Good going, you shly dog," he boomed, slapping Dirk on the back. "Ssshould've known you'd be the one to shtorm that castle." He draped his arm over Dirk's shoulders as though they were bosom buddies.
Over the heads of the other dancers, Dirk saw Alissa snatch up her purse from the table and take off without bothering to answer any of the questions her friends were throwing at her.
"You got any idea how many men in thish company been dreamin' about plantin' one on Alisha, my friend?" Hugh went on. "Plenty, I can tell you. I'm glad it wash you, though. You're just the man to take that little gal down a peg or two, you ash me. The little bitch always did get under my skin, with that prim air."
Dirk's head snapped around. "Shut up, Hugh."
He shrugged off the man's huge arm and took off after Alissa.
By the time he'd pushed and shoved his way through the crowd, she was nowhere in sight. Dirk hurried out of the ballroom and headed for the down escalator and the main entrance. He pushed through the plate-glass doors just in time to see the parking attendant emerge from Alissa's car at the curb and hold the door open for her.
"Alissa, wait!"
Startled, she darted a look at him over the top of the automobile and scrambled inside. "Dammit, Alissa, will you—"
With a squeal of rubber on pavement, she shot out of the short curved drive into the street, without regard for the traffic. The driver of a pickup slammed on his brakes and blasted his horn, missing her by only inches.
"May I help you sir?" the doorman asked, but Dirk didn't hear him.
He stood on the sidewalk, watching the red glow of the taillights until they disappeared around the corner.
With an oath, he whirled around, slammed his palms against the doors and stalked back inside the lobby, cursing so violently under his breath that several people shot him wary glances and gave him a wide berth.
Dammit to hell! Why had he kissed her? He should have known it would embarrass her. What the devil had he been thinking?
He snorted as he took the escalator back up to the ballroom. That was the problem; he hadn't been thinking at all. If he had been, he wouldn't have gone near her all evening, which was what he'd intended.
"Yeah, right, Matheson. So why didn't you bring a date?" he chided himself. He hadn't attended a party stag since his freshman year in college.
His self-delusion hadn't lasted long. One look at Alissa, with her honey-colored hair cascading around her shoulders and wearing that backless, formfitting gown, and he had promptly forgotten every promise he made to himself while driving to the party.
It shouldn't have been possible, but somehow she had managed to look both elegant and sinfully sexy all at once. He'd had to restrain himself from approaching her before the music started.
Dirk snorted again. So much for good in
tentions.
It was fortunate that the next day was Sunday. After a night of tossing and turning in her bed, alternating between hurt and anger, Alissa slept late and rose still feeling tired.
She glanced at the clock, and knew that if she scrambled she might make it to church in time for the late service, but she just didn't have the energy, or, for once, the desire.
Her eyes were heavy-lidded as she slogged through her small house. She forced herself to eat a bowl of oatmeal and tend to her routine chores, but afterward she curled up in her favorite chair beside the hearth, tucked her feet under her and stared at the fire she had built.
For years, this house had been her refuge from the world, the place where she felt safe and content.
Growing up the youngest of four children, Alissa had enjoyed the warmth and security of a close-knit and loving family. She had lost her mother relatively early, but not before she stored up many cherished memories—coming home after school to a cozy home that smelled of baking cookies or pot roast, the sound of her mother's voice as she sang along with the kitchen radio, her father's jovial laughter and big, work-worn hands.
She remembered family dinners together at the dining room table, squabbling and laughing with her older sister, Callie, with whom she had shared a room, and enduring the teasing of her two older brothers, Joe and Tyler, lying before a roaring fire on her stomach doing her homework or watching television while her father read and her mother worked on a piece of needlepoint. To this day, whenever Alissa thought of happiness or contentment, she thought of that cozy old farmhouse where she'd grown up, with all of them warm and secure inside.
When she married Tom, her dream had been to create for her own family exactly the kind of home her parents had given her and her siblings. When she and her husband purchased this modest house, she had been determined to make that dream a reality.
Alissa smiled wistfully. Tom used to tease her about her that. He had called it the nesting urge.
She glanced around the room. She had taken such pains to make it as homey and comfortable as possible. She had decorated the house on a shoestring budget, a little at a time over the years, doing all the work herself.
For the first ten years of their marriage, Tom had always been too busy with his studies to help her, and later, getting his dental practice started had demanded all his time. As a result, she had become something of an expert at painting and wallpapering, installing tile, even carpentry.
Many of her furnishings were treasures she had rescued from junk shops and flea markets, and she'd spent countless weekends repairing and refinishing them. Sewing was a hobby of hers, and she was good at it. She'd made curtains, throw pillows, place mats and bedspreads. She'd even reupholstered several items.
All her furniture had been chosen for comfort and coziness, as well as color and style, and the end result was a charming and comfortable home, done mostly in soft shades of mauve and magenta and teal.
There had been no children to make the house ring with laughter, but she and Tom had been happy here.
Throughout her marriage, this house had been her haven, the place where she was happiest, but recently she'd felt lonely here, aware of the emptiness, and that saddened her.
There were several jobs Alissa needed to do—her hand washing, balance her checkbook, pay bills, check over her wardrobe for the following workweek—but she was too tired and dispirited to tackle any of them.
Barely had she settled in the chair when the telephone started ringing. She glanced at it, then looked away. It was probably Margo or Jolene or one of her other friends, wanting to pump her about the night before, and she was in no mood to discuss it.
Throughout the afternoon, the phone rang off and on insistently, but Alissa ignored it.
She got up once and made herself a cup of herbal tea, but immediately returned to her chair and resumed her contemplation of the fire dancing in the hearth.
The thought of returning to the office the next morning filled her with dread. Her friends were going to tease her unmercifully. That kiss on the dance floor was going to be the talk of the office for months.
Alissa shuddered. She was a private person, and knowing that she was going to be the butt of jokes made her sick to her stomach.
Hardest of all, though, would be facing Dirk again.
For years she had known that he could be demanding, even hard on occasion, when things did not suit him. He had drive and ambition and a lighting quick intelligence that had carried him up the corporate ladder like a rocket, but patience was not a virtue he had in great supply. She had never suspected, however, that he could be deliberately mean-spirited and vindictive.
The doorbell rang, and Alissa jumped. Sighing, she got up and trudged to the door and opened it without thinking. Shock rippled through when she looked up into Dirk's dark face.
The last thing she'd expected was to find him on her doorstep. He wasn't being fair. Why couldn't he have waited until tomorrow? By then, she would have recovered her composure and been better prepared to face him. Of course, it was typical of Dirk to try and catch an opponent at a disadvantage.
He had certainly succeeded this time. She did not have on so much as a speck of makeup. She wasn't even dressed properly. At the office she always wore her hair either clipped at her nape or put up in a sleek, businesslike twist. Now it hung loose about her shoulders. After her shower, she had pulled on a comfortable, baggy sweat suit, which, for all its fullness, did not hide the fact that she was not wearing a bra.
Surprise flickered in Dirk's eyes as his gaze swept over her from her feet, clad in gray socks, all the way up to her scrubbed and shining face and her loose mane of hair, which was tousled from her absently running her fingers through it all afternoon. When his gaze backtracked and zeroed in on her breasts, she had to fight the urge to cross her arms protectively over them.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"That's not very hospitable."
"I'm not feeling particularly hospitable. What is it you want?"
"Invite me in, Alissa," he commanded.
She gripped the door tighter and did not move, and he sighed. "C'mon. You know we have to talk. Wouldn't you rather do it here, in private, than at the office?"
She hesitated. Finally, she stepped back and held the door open, but her expression remained closed.
Dirk moved past her into the small entry. It was a gloomy, overcast day with the temperature hovered at freezing, and he brought with him the raw chill of the outdoors.
After shedding his sheepskin-lined suede coat, he hung it on one of the copper hooks on her antique hall tree.
One glance at him and Alissa felt as though she'd been kicked in the stomach. At the office, Dirk always looked as though he'd just stepped out of the latest issue of GQ. The only times she had seen him in casual clothes were at the annual company picnics, and she had forgotten how powerful his physique was beneath those impeccable tailored suits, how stunningly virile he looked in casual clothes.
He wore loafers, thick navy socks, old jeans and a long-sleeved navy polar fleece shirt that molded his broad shoulders and muscled chest in a way that made her throat go dry.
For heaven's sake, will you get a grip? she silently lambasted herself.
Without a word, Alissa turned away and walked into the living room, and Dirk followed. "Have a seat," she said coolly, indicating the sofa with a curt flip of her hand, but he ignored her and stopped in the middle of the Oriental rug to look around.
Annoyed, Alissa returned to her overstuffed chair across from the sofa and crossed her arms over her midriff, her mouth tightening as she watched Dirk take in every detail of her modest home.
Her home wasn't fancy, but it was tastefully done and had a certain charm. Most important, it pleased her. However, she imagined that to someone like Dirk it probably appeared hopelessly middle-class and ordinary.
"Nice place," he said finally, surprising her.
Alissa eyed him, suspecting
condescension. "Thank you. Although I'm sure that it can't compare to your home."
Dirk owned a posh high-rise condominium apartment not far from the office. Of course, she'd never seen it, but the building was one of Houston's more prestigious addresses.
He turned his head and gave her an odd look. "True. Which is precisely why I like what you've done to this place."
The statement confused her, and Alissa decided not to examine it too closely. In any case, she suspected that Dirk was merely trying to sidetrack her.
Having him in her home made her nervous. His size and the force of his personality seemed to overwhelm the small space. After last night, she had thought that things were even between them. Apparently, however, he was one of those people who had to have the last word.
Fine. She wished he would just say what he had come to say and leave.
Folding her hands together in her lap, Alissa watched him and waited.
Dirk was in no hurry; he was too absorbed with taking in his surroundings and this new side of Alissa that he'd never seen before.
At the office, her appearance was always perfect—makeup flawless, every hair in place, her attire impeccable. To see her in those comfortable old clothes, looking at ease and open, even a little vulnerable, had given him a shock. A pleasant one, to be sure, but a shock, nevertheless.
He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. There was an innate softness about Alissa that had always made him suspect that beneath the career-woman image she projected she was really the hearth-and-home type. This delightfully cozy little house confirmed his suspicion.
He had gone by the office earlier to get her address, and while going through her personnel file he'd learned that she was thirty-six, but in those casual clothes, with her face scrubbed bare, she looked about twenty-four. And absolutely delectable.
Alissa shifted in her chair, and he realized that when she didn't have her professional armor in place he had her at a disadvantage. With relish, he looked her over again, taking his time about it. Finally his gaze settled once more on her unfettered breasts, and a slow smile of appreciation curved his mouth. To his delight, when he looked up her face was scarlet.