by Liz Fielding
‘In other words you’re a workaholic?’
‘Not exactly.’ His work didn’t exclude other interests, but maybe it was a barrier against deep involvement. Against hurt. ‘But a man has to work.’
‘If you never worked again you could live in luxury on the profits made by Claibourne & Farraday.’
‘You don’t have to work either,’ he pointed out. Which was just as well, since she’d soon be out of a job. He might like her, might do rather more than that, but that didn’t change anything. ‘And I’m offering the same deal. Sit back, take the profits and enjoy yourself.’
She dipped her thumb into the milk and offered it to one of the kittens. ‘It would seem that we’re more alike than you’re prepared to admit,’ she suggested, glancing up, challenging him. Then after a moment she gave her attention to the eagerly nuzzling kitten.
He picked up a tiny ball of fluff, dipped his thumb in the milk and followed her example.
‘Have you ever been married, Jordan?’ He glanced up. ‘Lived with anyone?’
‘I assumed you’d done a little background research on us.’
‘I did, but I was interested in your working life, not gossip.’ When he raised an eyebrow, she said, ‘This is just making conversation.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve never actually made it up the aisle. I came close once, about ten years ago, but Ellie couldn’t understand why I found work more interesting than lazing on a beach somewhere, or partying at a fashionable ski resort.’
‘She thought your job should be the hobby?’ she asked, lifting her expressive brows in sympathy.
Well, she’d been there more recently—three years, two months and six days ago, to be precise. Maybe she was right about them being alike.
‘When I explained that it was never going to be that way she found someone else with more time to devote to pleasure.’
‘Your own James Cawston…’ she said, putting down the first kitten and picking up its sibling.
‘I wouldn’t have described her in that way exactly,’ he said drily, as he recalled the beautiful girl he’d so nearly married. ‘But, like him, she did have the good sense to recognise it wasn’t going to work and walk away.’
‘It doesn’t make it any easier, does it?’ Something in her voice made him look up. She was looking at him intently, and he realised that he’d hit on a tender spot. He knew what it was.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s still rejection, no matter how well meant. The head can see the sense of it, but…’ He couldn’t quite bring himself to make any reference to his heart. He’d got used to thinking of himself without one. ‘The fact that she later married someone else who was pretty much a mirror image of me suggests that maybe it wasn’t entirely the work that was the problem.’
‘There isn’t a man alive who could be described as a mirror image of you, Jordan.’
He offered the wryest of smiles. ‘Perhaps we’re both lost causes.’
‘Maybe your secretary’s crazy idea has more merit than we thought.’ He frowned. ‘We should marry each other since no one else will have us.’ Was that the tiniest shake in her voice? ‘We could be work-obsessive together.’
Now he’d met India Claibourne the idea didn’t seem anywhere nearly as crazy, he discovered. ‘Is that a proposal?’
‘Only if you’re going to say yes,’ she said, then laughed, just to make sure he knew she was joking.
‘What will you do?’
‘Do?’ Her long, slender neck curved invitingly as she bent over the kitten held to her breast, the soft, worn T-shirt sliding over her shoulder to expose flawless silken skin and confirm what he already knew. That beneath it she was naked.
This morning, when he’d first set eyes on her, she’d stunned him with her beauty, her poise. This evening she was bereft of artifice—with nothing more than the bloom of her skin, her body more revealed than concealed beneath the soft clothes she was wearing, the bright candour of her dark eyes—and he discovered that she was capable of doing much, much more.
She exposed his cynicism to the raw air and made it ache.
Well, he could live with that, but what was fresh, unexpected, was the way, by just looking up at him, fixing him with her level, disbelieving gaze, she was able to heat something buried deep inside him, quicken his desire.
He’d always been in total control of his emotions. Yesterday he’d confidently assured Christine of his single-mindedness. That gaining control of a department store was the only thing on his mind. Yet even while he’d been looking for ways to get beneath India Claibourne’s skin she had somehow managed to slip beneath his.
She glanced up when he didn’t answer, her lips softly curved in a natural smile, her dewy fresh skin an invitation to touch, to kiss.
‘Do?’ she prompted. The smile faded when he didn’t reply, and she put the kitten back in the box, sliding from the stool to stand and face him. ‘At the end of the month? What will I do when you’ve got Claibourne & Farraday and I’m standing on the pavement with the contents of my desk in a cardboard box? That’s what you meant, isn’t it?’
He wasn’t sure why he was so bothered. It was none of his concern what she did after he’d taken Claibourne & Farraday away from her. And yet there was no backing away from it. That was what he’d meant.
‘You must have given it some consideration,’ he said.
‘Must I? Why?’ Her voice was level, even, and for a moment he thought she was seriously inviting a response from him. But before he could offer one she answered her own question. ‘Because you’re JD Farraday and you’re going to win. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Always.’ And this time her smile was about as genuine as fool’s gold. ‘You see? I may not have dredged the gossip columns for the last thirty years, but I’ve done my homework. The important stuff.’ Then, ‘Well? Is that it?’
‘What exactly are you asking me?’
‘Why you’ve got the nerve to think you should take control of Claibourne & Farraday just because you’re a man.’ She hadn’t raised her voice, but lowered it, forcing him to listen closely to what she had to say. ‘And heaven help me for daring to think that I can challenge you at your own game.’
‘India—’
‘Forget that I’m better qualified, that I’ve lived and breathed Claibourne & Farraday since I was old enough to say the words. Forget that I know what I’m doing and you don’t know the first thing about running a department store. That this is the twenty-first century and deciding who’s going to run a business on the grounds of sex and age is so unbelievable that it will be laughed out of court—’
‘If it goes to court we’ve both lost,’ he said sharply, breaking into this stream of comments—every one of which, under other circumstances, he would have been applauding. ‘We might as well sell out now.’
His remark was greeted with a moment of total silence. Then she said, ‘Had an offer, have you?’
He’d done it again. He’d got her relaxed, smiling, forgetting the dispute between them, and then, when he’d thought he was getting close, a careless phrase had destroyed the mood. Except he was never that careless. He was being ambushed by his subconscious. The small still voice of conscience that was telling him to stop, walk away.
‘One too good to turn down?’ she pressed.
‘Haven’t you?’ he asked, but he already knew the answer. The Claibournes had received plenty of offers over the years, but they hadn’t been interested. That was why, the minute Peter Claibourne had been rushed into Intensive Care, the giant retail groups had turned to him. A man without an ounce of sentiment in his body.
He put the kitten back in the box, eased himself from the stool. The kittens had provided a way into her home, an opportunity to slip beneath her guard, but he’d thrown away the advantage, brought bright pink patches of anger to her cheeks. He’d won this round—just like the previous one in the restaurant. Breaking down her reserve. Making her see him as something more than an enemy. And both times he’d thrown it carelessly
away. But this time she couldn’t get into her car and drive away from him.
He captured a strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes and tucked it safely behind her ear, before sliding his fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
‘You should always have an exit plan, India,’ he said. Good advice under any circumstances. Advice he’d do well to heed. But the exit could go hang for a moment. Right now he was going to do something he’d been anticipating ever since she’d proposed this shadowing scheme.
What his body had been urging him to do since he’d first set eyes on her that morning.
He kissed her.
CHAPTER SIX
INDIA read his intent in the sudden stillness of his body, the darkening of his eyes, but even while her brain was sending urgent Move! signals to her legs it was already too late.
Jordan’s hand shifted from her chin, opened to capture her head, cupping it in his palm while his sexy mouth descended with tormenting slowness before it brushed softly against her own.
Sizzling, searingly sweet, her lips parted hungrily beneath the sensory overload, and at that point her legs weren’t listening to anyone. Even as her brain surrendered and intuition kicked in they were buckling weakly, so that she leaned instinctively into his body for support.
His impulse to kiss her was at once so perfect, so true, that for a moment he closed his eyes to shut out the look of sweet surprise that widened hers, caught his breath at the physical kickback from the soft, clinging warmth of her mouth as India responded instinctively to his touch.
How long was it since a woman had left him feeling so weak? His first kiss… First time…
And in that instant he knew that any pretence of being the one single-mindedly in control had just flown out of the window. He’d kissed her not as part of some cynical manoeuvre to seduce her, steal her heart and her soul, along with her department store, but because that was what he’d wanted to do…more than anything else in the world.
Kissing India Claibourne had certainly opened his eyes, opened them wide. Looking into hers—startled, a little confused as her lips clung to his—he’d believed, for a heartbeat, that the heady rush making him feel ten feet tall was victory. The chilling backwash of reality was just as swift.
Impulse. He had kissed her on an impulse, he realised. What had happened to his awareness? Where was his much-vaunted control? Twenty minutes ago he’d been putting distance between the two of them, knowing that it would be a mistake to move too quickly, that she’d suspect his motives and put up her defences. And then, impulsively, he’d blown it.
That was what you got for using sex as a weapon. It could turn on you without warning, leaving you the one with an unfulfilled ache, a hollow feeling of regret, as you took a precious moment and turned it to your own advantage.
Still close enough to see the tiny glints of amber glowing softly in her eyes, he moved swiftly, giving her no time to think, reclaim the high ground and reject him. ‘Give it some thought,’ he said, releasing her, leaving her to decide whether it was the exit strategy or his kiss that should occupy her mind.
About to say something, she changed her mind and instead took a step back.
He should already have said good night and be on the way to the door, yet still he lingered. ‘How will you manage? Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ She seemed confused, disorientated, and it was impossible to miss the fact that her breath was coming rather faster, her breasts gratifyingly peaked against the give-away softness of her T-shirt. Could it be that she’d been as entranced with his kiss as he’d been with her response? The words, the tone of her voice had been giving him a red signal, but everything else appeared to be on amber and heading for green.
He shut the thought down before it overwhelmed him, concentrating instead on the advantage gained. The satisfaction of discovering that he hadn’t lost quite as much ground as he thought.
‘The kittens,’ he said. ‘They’ll need constant attention.’
‘I…um…guess I’ll just have to use my managerial skills and organise something,’ she said, turning as if to look at them, but gripping the back of the stool, her knuckles white.
‘I wish…’ He hesitated, but as she glanced at him he shook his head, leaving her to wonder what exactly it was that he wished. Maybe when she’d worked it out she could tell him. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, India.’
‘Please…’ it was his turn to wait ‘…shut the door on your way out.’
Polite, distant, and this time her invitation to leave was as blunt as a hand on the collar and a boot to the backside.
India jumped as the front door shut with a sharp click. He’d taken her by surprise. That could be the only possible explanation why she’d stood there and let him get away with that kiss.
She swallowed, took a deep, steadying breath.
And anyway, to describe it as a kiss, she told herself, was undoubtedly an exaggeration. It had been scarcely more than a touch of his lips to hers. It was certainly nothing to be getting hot under the collar about. So why was she? Hot.
She rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, down over her neck. Steaming hot. And bothered as hell. Her lips tingling and swollen as if she’d been necking all evening like some teenager in the back row of the cinema.
How had he done that? With just the touch of his mouth to hers?
What did these Farraday men have that ordinary mortals seemed to lack? First Romana, then Flora had fallen for the Farraday charm, and now she was letting Jordan walk into her apartment and take liberties that very few men would even have dared attempt, let alone get away with.
Did they simply have to reach out and touch for women to fall in lust with them? Fall into love with them, she corrected herself. Romana and Flora were women for whom nothing less would do. It would have to be true love—the world-well-lost sort of love—to capture their hearts.
Except that for her it would not be the world well lost but Claibourne & Farraday. And for a moment there she’d been prepared to lay down her arms and surrender. Just like her sisters.
Which was ridiculous. She hadn’t fallen in anything with Jordan Farraday. He was a sizzlingly attractive man, no doubt; her lips were still hot from his touch. But this wasn’t about love, or even lust. It was the heightened awareness of a winner-takes-all situation momentarily boiling over into something more. She’d been edgily aware of him at her shoulder all day. Even when he was out of her line of sight his presence was so disturbingly physical that she could feel it.
Maintaining concentration had been difficult. She’d wanted to keep looking around to check that her imagination wasn’t playing tricks on her. That if she could just catch him unawares she’d see that he was just another man.
She lifted her fingers to her mouth and was prepared to admit, in the privacy of her own kitchen, that Jordan Farraday wasn’t ‘just’ anything.
The kittens were mewing for attention and she picked one up, holding it at eye level. She’d been too concerned about them to wonder why he’d taken the trouble to bring them to her. But suddenly it was as clear as crystal.
‘You’re not really a kitten,’ she told the scrap of fur. ‘You’re a Trojan horse. Welcomed with open arms, made a fuss of, and all the time you’re just a ruse to bring the enemy inside the gates.’ She had to admire a man who could take such swift advantage of an unexpected opportunity.
He was different, all right. He deserved an award as cynic of the week.
What she deserved for being taken in—even temporarily—by such a ploy was something else.
Jordan sat at the wheel of his car, disconcerted to find that he was shaking. One day at her side, seduced by the silken sway of her hair, a scent he couldn’t quite pin down, had left him ragged with unfulfilled desire. Christine was right. If he didn’t take care, a week of this would have him on his knees. And happy to be there.
India made some telephone calls, then, having settled her orphans, she took the files to bed a
nd made herself comfortable; it was going to be a long night. Her eyes grew heavy as she trawled through the endless correspondence, the dense legal jargon, too tired to make sense of the discovery that Kitty Farraday had fought to hold on to the store after her father’s death…
A particularly heavy file woke her with a start as it slid to the floor. For a moment she lay back against the pillows, trying to convince herself that she could leave it until tomorrow, but even as she turned over and closed her eyes she knew she’d never get back to sleep.
And as she climbed out of bed she told herself that bags under her eyes weren’t all bad news. They were so puffy and unattractive that they’d keep Jordan Farraday’s mind firmly on the business side of their partnership.
As she began to gather up the scattered papers she discovered the thought wasn’t as consoling as it should have been. It might have bothered her more if at that moment she hadn’t picked up a folded, yellowing sheet of paper. It was a handwritten note, not addressed to anyone, or signed.
The reason for that became obvious as she read it. It was clearly legal advice, but not the kind that any lawyer would be willing to put his name to.
Since I have not seen the letter, I cannot offer an opinion on its probity, only warn that its appearance would cause grave difficulties if disclosed at this time. Circumstances might arise at some point in the future, however, that would make breaking the ‘golden share’ covenant imperative. I would advise safe keeping.
Letter? India frowned. What letter? She went through the file from front to back, this time wide awake. There was nothing. She hadn’t really expected there would be.
But somewhere there was a letter that would break the golden share agreement. All she had to do was find it.
Jordan pulled into his assigned parking space just before eight o’clock. He’d finally given up trying to sleep, and at five he’d been in his own office. There was nothing like work to take the mind off physical yearnings. The kind that had no prospect of being fulfilled.