Sweet Dream Lover

by Karen Sandler

  With his easy smile and his eye-candy body in a gray polo shirt and charcoal slacks, he drew the admiration of every female in the group. As the young girls clustered around him, Kat entertained a brief homicidal fantasy of tipping him down an empty elevator shaft. It’d be a damn mess to clean up, and the OSHA paperwork would be sheer hell, but maybe... She put a damper on the macabre notion when she realized just how far astray her exhaustion was taking her thoughts.

  Mark positioned himself right next to her in the packed elevator, his hand suspiciously close to her rear end. When she felt his fingertips brush against the soft wool of her slacks, she thought it had to have been inadvertent. Then he stroked her again, more firmly, and her traitorous eyelids drifted shut.

  She snapped her eyes open again. “Stop that,” she whispered.

  “Stop what?” His hand spread to encompass more of her behind. If it didn’t feel so damn good, she would have elbowed him for his impertinence.

  Suppressing a moan, she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, “Move your hand.”

  He did, scribing slow, sensuous circles over her derriere. When she ought to be screaming in protest, instead she was nearly moaning in pleasure. By the time the elevator glided to a stop, she was leaning into him, ready to melt into his arms for a kiss. If it wasn’t for the enthusiastic young girl behind them who pushed them apart as she exited the elevator, she’d be molded against Mark and making a complete fool of herself.

  Gathering her dignity around herself as best she could, she marched from the elevator. He caught up, but if he thought she’d let him manhandle her again, she let a quick evil glare apprise him otherwise. One of the young boys, a towhead in a navy Brooks Brothers blazer, caught the look and shrank back in sympathetic male fear.

  As she herded the bright-eyed BUY boys and girls toward the test kitchens, she kept the flighty crowd between her and Mark. The worst part of having him goose her in the elevator was that she’d enjoyed it so much. It had been a sharp reminder of the way his skilled hands could so quickly get her hot and bothered.

  The flock of future B-school students preceded her into the kitchens. “As part of Roth’s marketing plan, we offer free or nominally priced cookbooks on the back wrappers of our baking chocolates and Choco-Chunks bags. We test the recipes here.”

  Mark managed to do an end run around the gaggle of students and now hovered just behind her. It would only take one step back and she’d be pressed against him, his heat melting into her. The BUYers were staring raptly at a stainless steel double boiler, enjoying the fragrance of the Choco-Chunks melting over simmering water. They’d never notice if she rubbed herself against her ex-husband.

  Good Lord, what was she thinking? She wormed her way into the circle of students, putting a human shield between her and Mark. When she glanced back to scowl at him, he gave her a cocky smile, as if he read every dirty little thought in her mind.

  She refocused her attention on the BUYers, delivering a familiar patter about the method of tempering chocolate, the crucial temperatures required to ready chocolate for coating or molding and to avoid bloom on the finished product. Therese, the test kitchen’s head chef, sprinkled more Choco-Chunks into the melted chocolate to cool it, then offered bits to the group. As the boys and girls reached out for their share, Kat sought out Mark.

  He’d disengaged from the group and had drifted off toward another kitchen station. Kat’s focus drifted along with him. What was he up to, prowling around her test kitchens? Was he trying to glean Roth’s candy-making secrets? Truth be told, there really wasn’t anything to glean in the kitchens or anywhere else on this floor. The Chocolate Magic team was safely tucked away in R&D, out of view of the parade of BUY kids and ex-husbands.

  But, darn him, what if he planned to pin down her Aunt Sophie’s chocolate rugelach recipe? Ian Denham had tried to wheedle the precise ingredients out of Aunt Sophie three years ago at Thanksgiving. The old lady wasn’t quite in possession of all her marbles, but she had enough sense to keep the recipe to herself. Maybe that was Mark’s goal all along, to invade her test kitchens and snitch Aunt Sophie’s rugelach.

  Mark caught her watching him and he winked before ducking behind a refrigerator. Kat called out to Therese, “Take over for me, would you?” then quickly extricated herself from the group. Briefly blockaded by the towhead in Brooks Brothers, she growled in frustration as she sidestepped the young man. He skittered out of her way, whimpering at her scowl, and she felt a brief twinge of guilt.

  Rounding the refrigerator, she had Mark in her sights. He’d escaped to the far end of the test kitchens and had one hand on the door to the next room. He gave her a cocky salute before pushing through the door. Determined to put an end to whatever skullduggery he was up to, Kat followed.

  She caught glimpses of Mark as he threaded through the adjoining file room, then lost him again when he exited out into the hallway. It was a short walk from there back to the elevators. He’d have access to any floor he liked, and although only employees with the appropriate pass code could access the Chocolate Magic research lab, she wouldn’t put it past Mark to sweet-talk his way into the room.

  She caught up to him outside the elevator and grabbed his arm before he could so much as press a button. “Where are you going?”

  He grinned, the light in his blue eyes absolutely mesmerizing. “Can’t stand to have me out of your sight?”

  “I can’t have you roaming the halls.”

  He gave her a look of pure innocence. “I was looking for a soda machine.”

  “You couldn’t have asked?”

  “You were busy.” He smiled more broadly. “I hated to interrupt.”

  “And yet you managed to, anyway.”

  He shrugged, unrepentant. “You can go back inside. I’ll find it on my own.”

  “Fat chance.” She waved him down the hall toward the employee break room. Once they’d stepped inside the small kitchenette with its vending machines, Kat crossed to the soda machine and fished a dollar from the back of her ID badge holder. Feeding it into the machine, she punched the button for a Dr Pepper. She handed the icy can over to him.

  “You remembered. I’m touched.”

  “How could I forget? You hogged half the refrigerator with DP the entire time we were married.”

  He popped the lid, carefully pressing the tab back. “Is that what did us in? Too much Dr Pepper?” He was still smiling, but there wasn’t much humor in it.

  An ache started up inside her. “Do you really want to talk about that?”

  “I guess not.” He took a sip of the soda. “So how have you been, Kat?”

  Kat folded her arms over her middle again. “I think we covered that Saturday. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all doing great.”

  “Yeah. Right.” He stared down at the soda can, his smile gone. Somehow, that hurt most of all.

  “Mark.” He wouldn’t look up. “Mark...” Another beat, then he lifted his gaze. “Why are you here?”

  He stared at her, swirling the soda can. “Kandy for Kids. The donor list.”

  “You could have e-mailed it to me. Or faxed it to Norma. I would have looked it over, added my own data and sent it back. You didn’t have to come down here.”

  “I just thought—”

  “No, I don’t think you did.”

  “Kat...” He reached for her.

  She knew she ought to step back, evade him. She was a sucker for his touch, had endured the last few difficult months of their marriage because she was so damned addicted to the feel of his hands, his mouth. She’d feel his heat on her, and her brain would take a vacation.

  She let him stroke her shoulder, draw his fingers up along her throat. She refused to look into his eyes, refused to allow that connection. When his palm moved to rest on her cheek, she backed away, smacking her elbow on the soda machine before she could sidle out of his grasp.

  “You lured me here.”

  “Katarina.” He’d used her full name. Caution lights
flashed.

  ”I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You walked out of the test kitchens just so I’d follow you.”

  “You have a very suspicious mind.” He set aside the soda can and moved closer.

  She retreated before he could touch her again. “You wanted to get me alone.”

  He gave a little huff of impatience. “You have nine thousand employees in this building. How alone could we be?”

  As if to emphasize his point, Greg Marubayashi from marketing entered and headed for the coffeepot. “Hey, Kat. Hey, Mark.”

  Greg filled his mug and busied himself with creamer and sugar. Mark picked up his Dr Pepper and drank down the last of it, head tipped back, strong throat working as he swallowed. The Diet Coke guy had nothing on Mark.

  Greg gave a cheerful wave good-bye as he exited. Kat wanted to walk out with him.

  The crunch of metal claimed her attention and she stood there, helplessly ogling the flex of Mark’s biceps as he crushed the soda can. He tossed it into the recycle bin in a smooth slam- dunk, his gaze locked with hers. She knew that gleam in his eye.

  It had been a game the first year of their marriage. He’d pursue, she’d pretend to evade. It had been heady and exhilarating knowing how much he wanted her.

  She put the table between them. “I’m not playing, Mark.”

  He prowled around the table, the sound of her name as tantalizing as foreplay. “Katarina.”

  Her blood heated, turning her protest into a breathy invitation. “You should go.” She shoved a chair in his path. “You’re intruding.”

  He sidestepped the chair. “Call security.”

  Defenseless, she watched him move closer. “Please, Mark.” He cupped her shoulders, tugged her toward him. Erotic images flickered in her mind in a hyperactive movie trailer and suddenly one little kiss didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

  His mouth a micrometer from hers, she stopped him just in time. “No.” She wriggled free, backed away. “Get out.”

  The heat in his beautiful blue eyes nearly dragged her back in his arms. “Kat—”

  “Get out, get out, get out.” Frustration turned her voice shrill and her words nasty. “I don’t want you here!”

  He stared at her for a long moment, pain chasing away the passion. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, then turned and headed for the door.

  Which was exactly what she’d wanted. She should be dancing for joy, doing back flips with exuberance. Instead she felt rotten, wanted to hide in a closet and gorge on a box of Roth’s dark chocolate chews.

  “God, I’m an idiot.” She hurried out of the break room and caught up with him at the elevator. “Mark, I didn’t mean to be such a bitch.”

  “I left my briefcase in your office.” He wouldn’t look at her. “Okay if I go get it?”

  “Sure, but Mark—”

  The elevator arrived and he stepped inside. “Have Norma get back to me with any changes to the donor list.”

  “Mark—”

  He must have hit the close door button because the elevator slid shut and it started up before she could think to slap the call button. The other car took its own sweet time arriving, then when she’d gone up a couple floors, she remembered she’d left the BUY kids to their own devices in the test kitchens. She stopped at the next floor and thundered back down the stairs. She’d have to call Norma from the kitchen, have her head off Mark.

  In the test kitchens, Therese had the group suited up in white lab coats and paper hair coverings. Half the BUY kids were tempering their own pots of chocolate, the other half were rolling rum raisin fondant in the silky brown coating. Jennifer was holed up in the corner clutching a box of peanut butter fudge. Her glassy eyes told the sordid tale. She was a sugar addict in a fudge-induced state of sucrose nirvana.

  Kat grabbed a wall phone and dialed Norma’s number. “Is Mark still there?”

  There was a long pause before Norma answered. “Already gone. He said he’d e-mail me the donor list.”

  Maybe she could still catch him in the garage. Call the parking attendants, have them withhold his keys. Blockade his car.

  Jennifer sank her teeth into another square of fudge, her eyes closing in bliss. If the youth leader didn’t get an intervention fast, she’d need a one-way ticket to a sugarholics halfway house to dry out.

  Kat returned her attention to her assistant. “Norma, contact his office. Have him call when he gets in.”

  “Sure, Kat.”

  Kat hung up the phone and eyed Jennifer still wolfing down candy. First snatch the fudge, Kat decided, then administer coffee. With any luck, the woman wouldn’t get nasty. It wouldn’t do to have her make a scene in front of all those kids.

  Pasting a soothing smile on her face, Kat set aside the problem of Mark and started cautiously toward Jennifer.

  * * * * *

  Despair filled Fritz as Norma set down the phone. Mark stood opposite her, briefcase in hand, his look so grim Fritz would have thought Denham Candy had been booted off the New York Stock Exchange. Mark’s black funk drove one more nail in Fritz’s self-made coffin.

  Head bowed, Mark strode toward the elevator, then gave a halfhearted wave before stepping into the waiting car. The doors closed and the elevator swept him away, along with any prayer of Fritz successfully completing his objective.

  Sinking to the edge of Norma’s desk, Fritz tapped his foot in a rapid staccato. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

  Norma smiled up at him, and for the first time Fritz noticed the dimples creasing her cheeks. “I’d rather tell her face-to-face.” The friendly look in Norma’s hazel eyes should have coaxed a smile from him in response. But he was so damn agitated he could barely think straight. His grand plans were going to hell in a handbasket, like everything always did in his life.

  Norma’s smile faded. “It’s all my fault. I should have found a way to keep him here.”

  “No way, Norma. This one’s on me.” He tapped her gently on the arm. “Besides, we’re in this together. Compadres. Partners in crime.”

  She gazed up at him a moment more, then she looked away, her cheeks coloring a bit. She stacked the already neat files on her desk, tidying up her impeccable work space.

  “So what’s our next step?” she asked briskly.

  Doom weighed heavily on Fritz’s shoulders. “What next step? They hate each other.“

  “They don’t. I’m sure of it. We just have to find a way to put them together and keep them there, then let nature take its course.”

  Now she was smiling up at him again, her hazel eyes shining. For an older lady, she really was pretty. He liked the way she styled her soft blond hair around her face, the way it dipped in just under her chin. And she always dressed so classy, in colors that set off her curvy figure just right. Her ex, Ronald, was a real jerk for leaving such a fine woman.

  Embarrassment hit, knocking some sense into him. This was Norma he was entertaining such goofy thoughts about, the woman who had held him as an infant, who had even baby-sat him a time or two. He’d always liked her, always respected her, but that was as far as their relationship went.

  If she’d just stop smiling at him, stop looking at him as if he really mattered, as if he was really worthwhile instead of a terminal screw-up. A woman like Norma had a way of making a guy feel as if he actually counted for something.

  He pushed away from her desk and started pacing in front of it. Man, he needed therapy. He needed a shrink. A lobotomy, maybe. A weekend at the funny farm...

  “That’s it.” He stopped in his tracks, turned to Norma. She really was a good influence on him, giving him such stellar ideas. “A weekend getaway.”

  She looked surprised, and for an instant he wondered if she thought he was suggesting a getaway for them, for him and Norma. The idea shouldn’t excite him, but it did. He pushed aside the crazy notion and forged on with his idea. “Does Roth still own that cabin up at Mt. Ranier?”

  “The executive cabin? Sure. They just restoc
ked it last week for the spring and summer.”

  “Great, great.” His mind raced now, sinking its teeth into his newest plan. “This is what we’re going to do...”

  Chapter 5

  The Mark Situation proved to be a portent for the rest of the week, because it hurtled downhill from there. Problems with Chocolate Magic, dismal sales figures and a recalcitrant cat had turned the last five days into a nightmare.

  And now, when she’d rather be nursing a TGIF margarita at Phil’s Tacqueria, she was trapped in her Camry on Highway 706 two miles east of Elbe. Her shoulders ached from the three-hour- plus drive from Seattle that started with an agonizing crawl through Friday rush-hour traffic and segued into a sudden spring thunderstorm on Highway 7 that swamped her windshield and reduced her forward velocity to five miles an hour.

  Barring the unexpected landing of space aliens on the highway, it was only five more minutes to the town of Ashford, nestled in the shadow of Mt. Ranier. Maybe ten miles more and she’d arrive at her destination, the Roth executive cabin.

  She was hungry and cranky, and longed for a quick microwave meal and an extended session in the cabin’s hot tub. She could put Mark out of her mind, get some perspective on the hellish week, somehow restore her equanimity.

  Instead, she’d be lucky to get the microwave meal. Somehow, her father had roped her into conducting a management retreat, a weekend “team-building” exercise. Yuck. Touchy-feely “can’t we all get along” activities gave her hives. She’d suffered through them at USC, had put up with them at Roth in her first few years there. When she took over as CEO, she swore she’d never do another.

  When Norma had passed along her dad’s request, Kat was vulnerable. Word of the latest Chocolate Magic debacle had just been dumped on her. Poor Norma knew Kat was at a low point and almost refused to give her the memo from her father. But Kat had insisted, her eyes glazing over as she read her dad’s purple prose, rattling on about the latest fad in personnel connectivity and interleaved matrix structures. Half brain dead, Kat said yes before she’d had time to think. By the time Kat came to her senses, Norma had already forwarded Kat’s agreement to her father.