by Joan Hohl
Odder and odder, Maggie mused.
“Is something bothering you?” Karla asked as they made their way to the far side of the casino floor. “You look puzzled about something.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Maggie said, quick to clarify her thoughts. “It’s just…well, it seems a little unusual to me that all the employees refer to Mr. Grainger by his first name.”
“Oh, that.” Karla laughed. “My understanding is that Mitch has always worked on a first-name basis with his employees. He’s never played the ‘Big Man’ role. And so far as I know, at least most of the employees not only respect him, they genuinely like him.”
“But…doesn’t that easy, casual manner instill the temptation to take advantage?” Maggie asked.
Karla smiled. “With anyone else, it might, probably would. But everyone knows exactly where Mitch stands. He’s fair and generous, but he demands absolute loyalty. You see, he has a thing about trust.” She paused, an odd, fleeting shadow dimming her soft eyes, and she gave a delicate shudder. “But make no mistake, Mitch can be an unholy terror with anyone who breaks his trust.”
How ironic, Maggie thought. The man had a “thing” about trust…whereas she had come to believe that she couldn’t or shouldn’t trust any man.
“Intimidating, huh?” Maggie said, wondering what had caused the brief, sad-looking shadow in Karla’s eyes, her shudder.
“I’ll say.” Karla giggled, her sunny disposition restored. “I was so intimidated by him, I was here a long time before I could bring myself to using his first name, and that was only a couple of months ago.”
A couple of months ago? Maggie thought in astonishment. Then, that could only mean…
She slid a sidelong glance at Karla’s protruding belly. That could only mean she was completely off base in her suspicion that Mitch was the father of Karla’s baby.
Which meant that Mitch’s concern for Karla was that of a concerned and caring friend as well as her employer, and that Maggie had been condemning him without cause.
The feeling of relief that swept through her was bewildering in its intensity. Why she should feel such relief, Maggie couldn’t, or more precisely wouldn’t, examine.
Mentally shying away from any deeper meaning in her startled reaction to Karla’s laughing remark, Maggie told herself she felt relieved simply because her suspicions were laid to rest and would make working with Mitch a lot less stressful.
From the casino floor, they went to the restaurant where they learned that Mitch had already ordered lunch.
Mitch raised his head at the sound of the outer office door opening, the murmur of feminine voices.
They were back. An anticipatory thrill shot down Mitch’s back, tingling the base of his spine. She was back.
He grunted in self-disdain when he caught himself straining to distinguish Maggie’s voice through his closed office door. At that moment, a tap sounded on the wood panel.
Not wanting to take a chance on being caught with his expectations exposed, Mitch lowered his head and fastened his gaze on the balance sheet in front of him.
“Come in,” he said, certain it would be Karla delivering his lunch, hoping it would be Maggie.
The doorknob turned. The door was pushed open. “I have your lunch order from the restaurant upstairs… Mitch.”
Maggie.
Mitch hadn’t had to hear her voice; he had known it was her the minute she stepped into the room. He had felt her presence, felt as well the same explosive sexual-energy attraction crackling between them he’d felt from the beginning. And she had felt it, too. He could see the awareness of it in her eyes, the infinitesimal quiver of response of her body.
Ruling his expression into a bland mask, Mitch lifted his head. “Thank you, Maggie.”
Collecting the pile of printouts and correspondence, he set it to one side, clearing a portion of his desk. Shoving back his chair, he rose, intending to relieve her of the carryout container and drink cup she was holding.
“Don’t bother,” she said, quickly moving forward to set the containers on the desk. “And you’re welcome,” she continued, standing straight and alert, as if prepared to bolt the instant he told her she could go. But that flash in her eyes, that minute quiver of her body gave her away.
Oh, yeah, Maggie felt that sizzling attraction as sharply as he did, and she didn’t like it. But she would, Mitch promised himself. Eventually, she’d love it, revel in it, every bit as much as he knew he would.
Amused by her wariness, Mitch flicked a hand at the deeply padded chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
Her beautiful green eyes flared with consternation. “But…your lunch will get cold.”
Good try, he thought, silently applauding her. “Doesn’t matter. It’s already cold.”
She frowned.
He relented…a little bit. “I ordered a cold sandwich and a cold drink.” He inclined his head at the closed cardboard container and tall, lidded waxed paper cup on the tray. “So, please, sit down, Maggie.” Though politely phrased, he made it a direct order.
Still she hesitated, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, her expression.
Standing firm, Mitch stared her down—all the way down into the chair placed farthest from him. Conquering an urge to laugh, he reclaimed his seat.
“That’s better.” He arched a brow. “You and Karla have had lunch?”
“Yes.”
Oh, Lord. Her voice sent those fiery fingers girding his hips into overtime. Mitch nodded and cleared his throat. “We can talk while I eat.” His hand moved to hover over the closed container. “If you don’t mind?”
She answered with a quick shake of her head.
He missed the swirl of her glorious red hair, now confined in a neat plait at the back of her head. Mitch found himself fighting an impulse to leap up, circle the desk, pull the pins anchoring the strands and spear his fingers into the silky-looking russet mass.
His fingers tingled.
Enjoying the sensation, too much, Mitch swallowed a groan of despair. This was crazy, he thought. Never had he experienced this urgency of desire, this need to be one with a particular woman.
Those green eyes were watching him, shadowed by… What? Mitch asked himself, probing those emerald depths. Fear? Confused awareness? Yes, both, he decided.
Knock it off, Grainger, before you scare her away, he berated himself, wondering what in hell had happened to his normal control.
Flipping open the take-out container, he picked up a triangle of the stacked turkey club sandwich. “Would you like some?” he asked, in what he considered remarkably calm tones, considering his semiarousal and emotional upheaval.
“No, thank you.” A near smile kissed her lips; he envied the smile. “As a matter of fact, I had a turkey club sandwich for lunch, too. It was very good.”
Too bad, Mitch mused, biting into the layered sandwich. He would have liked watching her eat.
“You wanted to talk?” Maggie raised her eyebrows.
Not really, what he really wanted was to… Down boy, Mitch cautioned himself, feeling fiery fingers dig hungry claws deep into his groin.
Nodding, he finished chewing and swallowed before answering. “Yes. How was your tour of the premises?”
“Interesting.” She gave another half smile, “And a little confusing. And not only the general operation of the business. Karla introduced me to so many of the other employees, all the names ran together. The only ones I remember are the first two, Roger and Rafe, and the last one… Janeen.”
Chewing another bite of the sandwich, Mitch nodded again. “It’ll take a while,” he said, after again swallowing. He washed it down with the cola in the tall cup, trying to think of something else to say to keep her in the office. “You’ll learn the ropes soon enough.”
“I’m sure,” she agreed, then fell silent once more.
“And everything’s okay with the apartment?” Damn, Mitch thought, he was reaching, and he knew it. He had asked her th
at earlier. “Nothing you need?”
“No, everything’s fine.” Then she frowned. “But about the rental payment…?”
He waved her concern away. “Make the check out to Grainger, Corp. and give it to Karla. She’ll take care of it.”
“All right.” Maggie inched forward on the chair. “Is there anything…”
“No,” he interrupted, giving up—for now. “Tell Karla I’ll have some tapes to be transcribed later, after I’ve finished going through the correspondence.”
Frustrated, Mitch watched Maggie walk out of the office, unaware that, had she quickly turned back, she’d have seen not only the sexual hunger revealed in his silvered gray eyes, but poignant longing, as well.
Quietly closing Mitch’s office door behind her, Maggie was relieved to see Karla busily concentrating on the computer terminal.
Eyes wide with wonder and confusion, Maggie reflected on those emotional and physical electrically charged minutes she had spent in Mitch’s company. While she had been aware—too aware—of the force field humming between them before, this time the very air surrounding them seemed to have crackled with the power of the magnetic attraction. It seemed that each time she was near him, the voltage increased.
Nothing anywhere near the conflicting sensations she had experienced during those last few minutes had ever happened to her before. She felt so…so strange, so churned up by myriad feelings of apprehension, incipient panic, simmering excitement and sheer, sizzling sensual tension.
Several times, when Mitch’s blatantly passion-fired eyes had pierced hers, as if he were trying to see into the very depths of her mind to her soul, Maggie had literally ceased to breathe, to think.
On the surface, the conversation had all been so casual and mundane. But beneath the surface, Maggie’s senses had been bombarded by silent messages.
Without a word, or a move out of line, Mitch had transmitted his desire, his intentions. He wanted her, in the most basic way a man wanted a woman.
It was scary…yet excitingly so.
Needing a few precious seconds to collect herself, Maggie stood silent, inches outside Mitch’s door, drawing deep, calming breaths into her oxygen-starved body.
Raising one hand, she stared numbly at the tremor in her fingers. She was trembling inside, too, trembling and…
Again Maggie’s breath caught in her throat. She was trembling and aching, tight and hot and moist in the sensitive heart of her femininity.
She wanted him.
The realization battered its way through the barrier of Maggie’s self-constructed denial. She had wanted him from the moment she walked into his office that first day and looked into his eyes to feel the power of his masculine attraction to her.
Forewarned by the woman in the restaurant that Mitch Grainger was tough, hard as bedrock, she had been prepared to dislike him on sight. And Maggie had told herself repeatedly over the ensuing days that she had disliked him. She had spent the weekend avoiding the truth that, from that first moment, she had felt irrevocably drawn to him.
How had it happened? Why had it happened? Maggie asked herself, bewildered by her uncharacteristic response to him. She had believed herself sorely lacking in sensuality. She didn’t even particularly like sex, had never experienced anything remotely similar to joyous ecstasy while engaged in the act of lovemaking.
Still, her body pulsated with a hollow, aching desire to be one with Mitch Grainger.
What in the world was she going to do? Maggie’s first impulse was to bolt, not only from the office, but from the building, straight to the apartment to gather her stuff and hightail it out of Deadwood.
With trembling fingers, Maggie plucked her handbag from the corner of Karla’s desk, where she had placed it before entering Mitch’s office with his lunch. On shaky legs, she took a step toward the door, and freedom.
“Oh, Maggie,” Karla exclaimed on a short laugh, stopping Maggie in her tracks. “I didn’t hear you come out of Mitch’s office.” Her smile gave way to a frown. “You look a little upset. Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Maggie said, raking her mind for an excuse, any excuse. “I just need to go to the rest room,” she improvised.
“Oh…” Karla giggled. “I know the feeling.” She flicked a hand at the door. “So…go, you know where it is.”
Maggie was through the door like a shot, nearly colliding with Frank, one of the guards, and another man who were right outside. “Oh, excuse me, Frank,” she said, feeling foolish as she circled him and the other man. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
Frank chuckled. “Nature calling, huh?”
“Afraid so,” she said, her face growing warm with embarrassment. “Too much coffee,” she explained, continuing along the hallway to the door marked Women.
Once inside, Maggie slumped back against the door, her pulse racing, her breathing erratic, her body trembling. Staring straight ahead, she was shocked at the sight of her stark reflection in the long mirror above the marble-topped line of sinks.
Startled to her senses by her own pale, distressed image, Maggie drew a deep breath and stiffened her spine. Eyes narrowing, she moved closer to the mirror.
This is nuts, she thought, glaring at her reflection. You’re reacting like a twittery teen at the prospect of her first real date.
But, what to do about it? About Mitch?
The impulse to run swept over her again. Exerting every atom of willpower she possessed, Maggie quashed the thought out of existence.
Damned if she would run, she lectured herself. She had been running for months, only to learn, finally, that she couldn’t run from herself. Her anger, her uncertainties were always with her.
Well, she had decided to stop running, hadn’t she? Maggie reminded herself. She had settled into the apartment, determined to stand firm, to face and deal with whatever life threw at her.
But… Mitch Grainger? Could she deal with him? Or, more important, her wildly sensual reaction to him?
Worrying the questions, Maggie gnawed at her lip, only then noticing she had eaten off her lipstick along with her lunch. She could use some color in her cheeks, as well.
Pull it together, she advised herself, turning on the cold water tap to bathe the still-racing pulse in her wrists. Turning off the tap, she dried her hands with a paper towel, then dabbed at the moist line of perspiration on her brow and at the back of her neck.
Cooler, calmer, feeling more composed, Maggie removed the small makeup pouch from her handbag and set to repairing her appearance.
Minutes later, Maggie critically studied her renewed reflection. She allowed herself a faint smile of satisfaction for the effort at camouflage. The shine on her forehead, nose and chin had been concealed by a few pats of translucent pressed-powder foundation. Her cheeks glowed with healthy-looking, if artificial, color, the muted red applied to her full lips was outlined with a darker hue.
Warpaint on, Maggie squared her shoulders. She would not run. She was done with running. She would stay and face not only Mitch Grainger, but her own overwhelming attraction to him.
Curving her lips into a pleasant smile, Maggie turned and marched back to the office.
Six
Moving back into the office quietly so as not to disturb Karla, Maggie slipped into a chair in front of the desk. Taking her checkbook from her bag, she wrote out the rental payment on the apartment. She was tearing the check from the book when Karla turned away from the screen to smile at her.
“Oh, I’m glad you’re back,” she said, pushing her chair back and easing out of it. “Now I have to go…urgently.” She grinned. “You can man the phone.”
“Mitch told me to give the rent payment to you,” Maggie said, holding up the check.
Already at the door, Karla said, “Lay it on the desk, I’ll take care of it when I get back.”
Man the phones. Great, what’ll I do if the darn thing rings? What’ll I say? Sorry, but I’m new and don’t know diddly about the business yet? Now
, that would make a sterling impression, Maggie thought, grimacing as she moved around the desk and settled into Karla’s chair. She had just decided that her best bet was to pray the phone didn’t ring, when the darn thing did.
Maggie warily eyed the phone through the second ring, then recalling Karla saying that if it wasn’t answered by the third ring Mitch would pick it up, she grabbed the receiver.
“This is Maggie,” she said, in the same manner as Karla always answered.
“Maggie? What happened to Karla?” the caller, a woman, asked in an ultracool, rather haughty tone.
An old hand at dealing with all types of calls, from all types of people, Maggie was less than impressed, but scrupulously professional. “Karla is out of the office at the moment,” she responded pleasantly. “May I help you?”
“Yes,” Ms. Haughty snapped back. “You may put me through to Mitch.” Not a request; an order.
As if, Maggie thought, raising her eyebrows. “I’ll see if Mr. Grainger can take your call,” she said, ever so sweetly. “Whom shall I say is calling?”
“Natalie Crane.” The woman’s superior tones suggested her name alone opened all doors.
“Please hold.” Witch, Maggie added to herself, immediately hitting the hold button. She waited with calm deliberation for a full thirty seconds before buzzing Mitch.
“Yes, Karla?”
The sound of his voice reactivated the quiver inside Maggie. For an instant, her mind went blank, her throat went dry. Idiot, she chastised herself, clearing her throat.
“Karla?”
“It’s Maggie,” she quickly responded. “Karla’s out of the office.”
He chuckled. “Ladies’ room, huh?”
“Yes.” She had to smile.
“What can I do for you, Maggie?”
The ideas that sprang to her mind didn’t bear thinking about. Shocked at herself, Maggie rushed into speech. “There’s a call for you on line two…a Ms. Natalie Crane.”
A pause, then he said, “Get rid of her,” in a hard-sounding near growl, before disconnecting.
Oh, my, Maggie thought, so much for opening all doors. Happy to oblige, she released the hold button. “I’m sorry, Ms. Crane, but Mr. Grainger is in conference and can’t take your call right now. May I take a message?”