Wrong Brother, Right Man

by Kat Cantrell

  She shivered as the things he was doing to her hand pulled on strings in places that would be impossible for him to physically touch. This was the fundamental problem with Val. He dove headfirst into everything, and she had a feeling he’d do the same with her—well enough that he’d make it difficult for her to ever surface. That kind of passion wasn’t on the table. “That doesn’t even make any sense. You ask someone to stop something that you don’t like.”

  “Then don’t ask me to stop.”

  There it was. Val’s challenge to her. Either she lied and said she didn’t like the way he spoke to her, touched her, pursued her...or she did as he suggested and closed her mouth. Or door number three.

  “I have to,” she whispered. “This is where I draw the line, Val. I’m trying to do a job, and anything personal will get in the way. Period.”

  He nodded but didn’t drop her hand. Of course not. What had she expected, that he’d actually listen to her?

  “That’s where we’re going to agree to disagree,” he told her with a wicked smile. “Passion is everything. In life. In our jobs. Having it, experiencing it...that can only make you better at your job. But I’m willing to concede that tonight isn’t the night to convince you of that.”

  Bemused, she shut her eyes against the things shooting through his expression and avoided asking questions, which he’d likely welcome. Except she didn’t want any explanations as to how he’d make good on something so ludicrous as a claim that letting herself fall into the passion he’d promised would increase her coaching efficiency.

  As it stood, she’d already envisioned with stark clarity how easily she could transition from telling him what to do in the boardroom to telling him what she wanted him to do in the bedroom. The problem was, she could not envision what would happen after that.

  * * *

  The morning after the design event, Sabrina showed up in Val’s office at 7:00 a.m. as expected. What he had not expected was the hard shell that she’d erected between them.

  God, no. All the work he’d done to dismantle that. Gone. Poof!

  “Good morning,” she called from the doorway, her tone carrying a wealth of subtle messages. All of them were of the Back off variety, and that was not going to work.

  Somehow she’d managed to put that layer of frost between them again—after such a hot kiss, it should have melted permanently. If he wasn’t so pissed off about it, he might find a way to admire her ability to move so easily into the professional zone.

  Last night should have put them in a completely different place. He’d worked through her defenses, kissing her thoroughly and then—bam!—ran smack into that truth he’d sought. She wasn’t so much opposed to sleeping with a client as she was opposed to sleeping with anyone she perceived as a threat to her carefully reconstructed emotional center that some jackass in her past had destroyed.

  Val was a threat. How, he wasn’t quite sure yet. But she’d been painfully clear about that. Which meant not only did he have to tread so much more carefully with her as his coach he also had to be extra vigilant about her wounds.

  Never had he been so invested in a woman and yet had so many impossible roadblocks. If he was smart, he’d forget about Sabrina and worry about LeBlanc. He had an inheritance to win and a score to settle with the ghost of his father. Shouldn’t that be enough for him to worry about for the foreseeable future?

  Apparently it wasn’t, because the odds of him backing off from what he knew would be something amazing with Sabrina were zero.

  Last night had whetted his appetite to dive deeper below her surface. Only something precious would be so heavily guarded, and he ached to learn more about her, to show her that she didn’t have to hide behind her frost. Not with him. She could trust him. He knew a thing or two about dealing with rejection. Abandonment. Pain.

  Connection and romance and passion between two people fixed all of that. It was the antithesis. She’d never learned that. He wanted to be the one to teach her.

  He watched her as she crossed the room from the door to the desk and sat back, drinking in the beautiful body that he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of under his hands last night. “Good morning.”

  She slid into the chair on the opposite side of his desk, her all-business face on. “I thought we’d talk about the strategy for Jada Ness.”

  The last person he wanted to talk about. The whole concept of securing Jada Ness as a designer for LeBlanc should thrill him—it was a slam dunk. He’d rather discuss the concept of root canals. “I thought we’d talk about the strategy for Friday night. I’m cooking for you. At my place.”

  Sabrina didn’t even crack a smile. “Jada Ness is a bit slippery. She’s a brilliant designer, highly sought after. I read a couple of comments on social-media sites that led me to believe that her presence at the event last night was highly unusual. You’re in a great position with her already. Capitalize on that.”

  “I’m thinking Thai,” he mused and contemplated her. “You look like the type to order pad thai at restaurants, so I’ll go with red curry shrimp. I know this great Asian market where the little old lady behind the fish counter likes me, so I get the biggest shrimp.”

  Leaning forward slightly, Sabrina put one hand on the desk. “Normally I’m not an advocate of carte blanche, but I would highly encourage you to give Ms. Ness whatever she wants. No price is too high to secure her for LeBlanc. I’m not a huge fan of Thai, by the way.”

  He nearly did a double take at how she’d tacked that information on to the end but caught himself. So that’s how she wanted to play it. He probably shouldn’t mention how far into his space she’d leaned either. Or she might crawl back behind her shell.

  “No price, huh? Would it surprise you to learn that Ms. Ness wants a showcase at LeBlanc flagship stores in each major city? None of the pieces would be for sale, just on display. I can’t get her to budge on that.”

  “Really? That’s what she suggested?”

  “No, it was my off the cuff idea, one I’d blurted out before thinking it through fully, and she jumped on it.” Val shrugged. “Fortunately for you, I’m even better at Italian than I am Thai. If you bring the wine, I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “It’s a tough sell to the board, given that there’s no automatic revenue. Unless...” Sabrina cocked a brow and paused. “Give her the showcase, but stipulate that the pieces go on the block at the end.”

  “What, like an auction?” Intrigued against his will, Val crossed his arms and contemplated how well that would work for LeBlanc. He’d done a few auctions in his day at LBC, high-profile things that generated some buzz, but he’d had to procure the items himself by going around to local businesses and begging people for donations.

  This would be totally different. The auction would be pure profit after paying the overhead and would get people excited about the idea of owning other Jada Ness pieces once LeBlanc started carrying her line.

  With a nod, Sabrina let her lips curve. The last of her frost vanished. “It was a throwaway expression. I only meant that the jewelry would be for sale, but I like the way you think. Italian food always works.”

  “You got me thinking in that direction. We’re a good team.” He didn’t dare upset this delicate balance they’d achieved by reaching out to touch her like he wished he could. Though, how he’d gotten her to admit what kind of food she liked in the midst of a conversation about Jada Ness, he had no idea. It worked for them though. She didn’t respond well to being railroaded. Noted. “I would go with a Chianti, if I was the one picking the wine.”

  “We are a good team.” She said it like she might be a little shocked by that realization, but he was so thrilled with the admission, he managed to hold back a smile.

  Instead he pulled out the mining contracts. “Since you’re on board with that idea, maybe you can help me figure out a strategy for working with the president of Botswana.�
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  Sabrina’s pretty eyes widened at the size of the binders he’d pulled from his desk drawer. “I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen something printed out that was that large.”

  “Xavier didn’t say, but I suspect that Botswana doesn’t do a lot of online business.”

  After the depressing setback with Sabrina last night, sleep hadn’t come easily, and the mining contracts had haunted him. He’d made almost no headway on determining how to handle them other than to read through the previous set.

  Everything in the new ones seemed in order, but some of the clauses had been changed, seemingly in the favor of the client’s federal government, but what did Val know? Maybe those benefits had been a verbal stipulation of the last contract.

  “That’s way out of my realm of expertise, Val.”

  Oh, he did like it when she called him Val while biting down on her lush bottom lip like that. “Mine too. But when was the last time you coached someone through how to manage a bohemian jewelry designer? Never, I’d wager. Yet you did it. You think strategically as a matter of course. If you were the CEO, what would you do?”

  Something filtered through her expression that warmed him unexpectedly. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she’d lit up, as if he’d crossed the gym at the school dance to approach a row of wallflowers and she’d been his choice.

  Of course she was. Hadn’t he made that clear?

  Or perhaps he hadn’t. He’d spouted a few lines about romance last night but, thus far, he hadn’t really followed through. Granted, she’d been a prickly audience this morning, but that didn’t excuse him from giving her what she needed—which was romance, loads of it. The woman did nothing for fun and had little in her life that could conceivably pull her away from work, obviously.

  He drank in her expression, intrigued by this button he’d unwittingly pushed.

  “I’d hire an expert,” she said almost immediately.

  “Like I did with you.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea. But where did one find an expert in diamond mines? You’d think the walls of this building would house the premier minds on the subject. Except Xavier had been the LeBlanc executive most well versed in these types of contracts, and he’d previously been clear about his role in handling them.

  Which left Val twisting in the wind. “Give me your backup plan. What would you do if an expert wasn’t available?”

  After a long pause that he didn’t dare interrupt because he enjoyed watching her think, she said, “I might go to Botswana. And get the lay of the land. Talk to some people, including the president of the country. Explain that you’re filling in and need to meet the players personally. I’ve done some research into Botswanan culture and I believe they would appreciate that.”

  He raised his brows. “You’ve researched Botswanan culture?”

  “I do a lot of research. It’s important for me to have a wide variety of knowledge.”

  Since she’d just demonstrated the necessity of that, he couldn’t argue. “I think that might be my new favorite thing about you.”

  And that solidified it in his mind. Sabrina was the most exciting woman he’d met in a long time. Maybe ever. That kind of smart appealed to him on so many levels. Never would he admit it but he didn’t hate how she kept presenting him with a set of unusual challenges. Nothing worth having came easily. Why should this be any different?

  Sabrina flushed under her carefully applied cosmetics. “You can’t say things like that.”

  “Why not? I like you, and I’m not usually shy about expressing that. You’re an intelligent woman who thinks before opening her mouth. It’s outrageously sexy.”

  She blinked and stared at him. “You can’t say things like that either.”

  There she went again, making things up as she went along to avoid feeling anything about anyone. “I can and I will. I would get used to that if I were you. Come Friday night, I’m going to say a lot of things like that.”

  And neither would he allow her to back out. He was onto her game of sliding agreements to dinner in between business conversations, almost as if she couldn’t own the decision outright. That was okay with Val, as long as she agreed.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t agree to dinner. I simply mentioned that I like Italian. We’re working together, and it’s not a good idea to get involved.”

  “The hell it’s not,” he growled. “If you have to tell yourself all of that to make it okay in your head for us to eat a meal together, fine. But I’m setting expectations ahead of time. You’re coming to dinner, and it’s a date.”

  It was also a concession on his part. Jada wanted Val to come with her contract, but given Sabrina’s history, he didn’t for a second believe he could sleep with both women and come out unscathed. Neither did he want to. Sabrina was more than enough for him to handle at the moment, thanks. He’d have to find a way to finesse Jada into signing a contract without the corporeal benefits she’d tossed around.

  How hard could it be to balance the two?

  Nine

  Normally, Sabrina left LeBlanc shortly after she and Val went over the things on his agenda for the day. She provided insight and advice, worked through sticky HR issues with him and left as soon as his day ramped up around eight o’clock.

  As much as he was paying her, she’d have stayed all day, especially now that Val had started wearing the suits he’d bought. The tailor he’d selected must have made some sort of deal with the devil. There was no other explanation for how perfectly made the suits were or how exquisitely they encased Val’s long, lean body.

  She might have drooled the first time she caught sight of him in the dark blue one that matched his eyes.

  But he never asked her to stay. He’d been the one to set the schedule, citing the fact that he more often than not ended up in meetings for hours on end that would bore her. Leaving worked for her because she could go to her little office and hash out pitches to other prospective clients. Answer some emails. Read Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In for the fifth time.

  Or at least that was the theory.

  Val’s high-handed invitation to dinner with the promise of Italian food and seduction had crawled across her nerves, then parked at the base of her spine until it became almost like a living thing. No matter which way she sat at her ergonomic chair, it wasn’t comfortable. And her shoes started pinching her toes after five minutes. Which was ludicrous, given that they were sandals with nothing more than a half-inch-wide strap of leather across her foot.

  Val had finally driven her around the bend.

  She hadn’t agreed to a date. Val had gotten confused. What had possessed her to counter his suggestion of Thai with Italian instead of a flat out no? Okay, well she knew. She’d been fantasizing for days about what that man could do with a simmering pot of spaghetti sauce and about five feet of clear countertop that he could boost her up onto.

  She couldn’t go. She should call him and make it clear. No date. What in the world did she even have to wear? Nothing. Except...the short, kind of flimsy, filmy skirt she’d bought at Nordstrom with absolutely no purpose in mind other than she liked the way she looked in it—that could work. Maybe. If she was actually considering going, which she was not. But if she did, the skirt would bunch up around her waist easily and—

  Her phone rang and Val’s name flashed across it. Heat climbed into her cheeks. Had he read her mind or something? He couldn’t possibly know that she’d envisioned something completely filthy happening on his kitchen counter or that she’d been cursing the lack of details since she’d never been to his house.

  “Sabrina Corbin,” she croaked into the phone. “I mean Hi.”

  Val laughed. “I changed my mind. I like it when you answer Sabrina Corbin. It’s sexy.”

  And she liked it when he said her name, but that would be counterproductive to mention. What was wrong with her? A
couple of kisses from a man shouldn’t have put her brain in permanent frappé mode. Except it was Val, not some random man. He liked her. And had no qualms about spelling that out.

  No man had ever said that to her before. Men did not like her. They liked power and ambition and dominating weaker people. Since she did her level best to play with the big dogs, she’d have said she liked those things too, except sometimes the chill she exuded was all an act.

  With Val, she could do things differently. Not only could but had orders to. Maybe she could admit that sometimes it was nice to be admired. To be wanted for no other reason than uncomplicated desire.

  Nice, but not a necessity. He was a man. She couldn’t show him any weakness, or he’d exploit it.

  “I’ll answer my phone how I please,” she informed him and cursed how breathy her voice sounded. That needed to stop, or he really would clue in that she had naughty thoughts on her mind. “No matter what you say.”

  “You were going to anyway,” he teased. “But I didn’t call to talk phone etiquette yet again.”

  “What is it this time?” She tilted her chair back and stretched her feet out. Oddly, her toes weren’t feeling all that cramped any longer. “Spider in your office?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Will you come by and take it outside for me?”

  She heard the smile in his voice, and it put one on her face, as well. He couldn’t see her and therefore had no idea how amusing she found him. “I kill spiders, FYI. I do not knit them blankets and find them a cozy place to spin a new web.”

  “I can work with that. How fast can you be here?”

  “Are you seriously asking me to come by?” Her feet slipped off the desk and hit the floor. Mentally she rearranged the rest of her afternoon as fast as she could, which pretty much meant kissing the idea of rearranging her filing cabinets goodbye. Oh well.