The Perfect Fit

by Cait London

  He rammed a hand through his hair, pushed the overlong length back impatiently. His green eyes ripped down her body, clad in his T-shirt, boxer shorts and socks, flopping slightly at her toes and ending at her calves. His leaping sexual need skittered like a lightning bolt across the room to her, pounded in her, heat awakening at the sight of him. His eyes narrowed, his muscles tensing beneath the black T-shirt, Nick continued his business conversation. He walked to her, wiped away the peanut butter and jelly smear on her cheek with his thumb, licked it and bent to kiss her briskly. He ran his hand over her hair, a familiar movement, and cupped her nape, running his thumb along her jaw, a movement born more of fondness than of heat. He cupped her chin, tilting her face up for his inspection, studying her intently. Then, satisfied, he continued to rip Jameson-someone apart. “Palladin, Inc. will not sacrifice quality because you’ve made a bargain with a subquality producer.”

  Nick watched Silver place her sketchbook on his desk. He sprawled in his chair and braced a boot on a filing cabinet. With the July sunlight pouring through his window, the lush Tallchief fields behind him, Nick looked tough, a man who knew his power. “This conversation is finished. Our legal and contracts branch will take care of final measures to see that our negotiations are finished. Do not bother to send your sales people to Palladin, Inc.—What? Oh, I’m certain that our attorney would love to hear from you... Fire me? Tell him what? Go ahead, he’s my brother.”

  His cold laughter sent a shiver up Silver’s spine. Nick could be tough; he could be gentle. But for her, he was fascinating, almost an addiction, she mused as she studied the man who had entered her life. Silver ran her fingers through his long shaggy waves, lifting it to study the lights—intriguing reds and lush browns tangling in the sunlight She noted that Nick sat very still, tensing at her touch. He smelled of ironing, carefully putting creases in his jeans, setting his world right with detergents, spray starches and softeners. The uhraexpensive washer and dryer weren’t common, but trophies of a man who had lived in the streets, in filth and hunger.

  Nick scraped his hand across his jaw, the raw sound of his stubble meeting his callused palm, reminding Silver of how he had dedicated his time to her. He’d placed balanced, appealing meals in front of her, some of which came from the brand-new pasta maker on his gizmo-filled kitchen counter. He’d watched her carefully, noting how much she’d eaten. She noted that Nick did not use garlic or onions in his sauces, taking care of her nose.

  He’d acted as if her nose was a treasure, pinching it for her out there in the lake, with the storm approaching. A man who knew exactly how to block her sniffing senses was a true find.

  At times, after finding the chest, he’d smelled of livestock and leather, of lavender and wildflowers, of need and passion and tenderness. She studied him now, that lovely sleek skin shifting over those powerful muscles, his green eyes narrowed upon her, the hard set of his mouth and the adorable cleft in his chin.

  Nick continued the conversation with Jameson, who had by now agreed to amend his poor-quality goods and deliver a proper product for down jackets. On impulse and with Nick diverted, Silver picked up a pair of scissors that were on his desk and hurried to the laundry room to recover a neatly folded towel. She hurried back to his office, and adjusted the towel around his shoulders.

  Wary of being tended, Nick shot her a warning glance, which she ignored, drawing a comb through his thick hair, sectioning it into one layer. She traced the deep V of his hairline, an intriguing new discovery about him. Nick’s eyes followed her warily, then he abruptly finished the conversation and sat very still. “What’s this?”

  “You can’t go to the business meeting this afternoon looking as though no one cared for you. What would your grandmother think? She still thinks we’re engaged, doesn’t she? That theae’s a little green-eyed Palladin baby on the way?”

  “I’ve been busy,” Nick stated in a grumbling tone that said he hadn’t corrected his takeover move on her life. “What do you mean, ‘this afternoon’?”

  She snipped another layer, loving the crisp texture of his hair in her fingers. “You’re flying me to Denver. I’ve already called Mamie. She’s setting up a presentation meeting of marketing, production, and your brothers. I’m ready to present the new Palladin’s Silver’s Signature Fragrance campaign. Ah...!”

  She tapped Nick’s arm as he reached for the sketchbook. “You’ll have to wait.”

  “I have a barber,” he grumbled as she combed his hair, smoothing the curls at his nape. “I didn’t ask you to cut my hair. I won’t have you waiting on me—”

  “You’ll have to suffer, because that is just what I’m doing. I like touching you. Aye, I do.” Silver concentrated on cutting his hair, aware of his hands locked to her hips, to her thighs, as she moved around his chair. He tensed, sucking in his breath when her breasts touched him. Nick was so responsive, absolutely delightful, fascinating. When she was finished, she tilted her head to study her work and drew the towel away.

  She eased to straddle his lap, her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve missed you, Nick.”

  His lips answered her light kiss warily, yet his hands tightened on her waist, sliding lower to cup her bottom. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “How much?” Silver whispered, and Nick’s shoulder muscles tensed beneath her fingers.

  “Enough.” A cautious man with a scarred heart, he wasn’t giving her more.

  Her fingertips traced his mouth. “What did you say to my parents? When you asked to many me?”

  Heat rushed up into Nick’s dark cheeks, and he shot her a sidelong, hot look. “That I—I said what I told you up on the mountain, when you took that featherbrained notion to—”

  She leaned forward to kiss him, to taste his hard lips with her tongue. She nipped his lip and smiled as his breath hissed by her cheek. Silver slipped her hands to his T-shirt, tugging it free from his jeans, drawing it up over his head. She could barely breathe, the need to love him coursing through her like wildfite. Her fingertips smoothing his bare chest, prowling through the hair there, Silver studied him. “You know that gangster act in Denver was—”

  “Out-of-date,” Nick muttered impatiently, his expression reminding her of a little boy whose hand was caught in the cookie jar. Yet his big bands slid upward, resting just beneath her breasts. He stared at her body hungrily, and Silver’s body lunched warmly, damply, softly upon his hardened one. Nick inhaled sharply, skimming one hand lower and smoothing her bare fresh.

  “Very old-fashioned, but determined Like you. You act decisively when you undertake to resolve your needs. I like that. A wishy-washy man wouldn’t do for me at all. I can count on you to react in a certain way. It’s quite comforting.” She grinned as his hand stopped exploring her body. The sudden flaring of his nostrils, the sharpened, narrowed drop of his eyes to her braless breasts, gleaming in the light, were all so beautifully predictable. “I left my undies in the laundry room,” she whispered, batting her lashes flirtatiously at him.

  “Oh, Lord,” Nick murmured in a helpless tone before Silver ripped away her borrowed T-shirt and fused her lips to his.

  He caught the edge of the desk as they began to tumble, half shifted her, and eased her to the floor beneath him. Nick’s body reacted perfectly, humming with sensual need, thrusting against her. Nick hurriedly slid out of his jeans and briefs, his mouth open and hot upon Silver’s breast, drawing those heated cords taut, pushing her into heat and rhythm and hunger. The intense pleasure his suckling brought her caused her to throw away all caution, crying out wildly, her arms and legs locked around him.

  Nick reached into his desk drawer and lifted slightly away from her for a moment. Then he was in her, safe, hot, hard, pulsing so deep, the lock complete. She answered his kiss with her hunger, meeting him out there on that burst of pleasure on equal terms. The rhythm ran wild, flowing, pulsing, tossing her higher as Nick’s hands ran over her, claiming her. One perfect touch took her over the edge, threw her into the eye of the st
orm as Nick’s muffled shout echoed in her mind.

  Draped over her, Nick breathed heavily, his heartbeat slowing from the frantic beat. His hot face against her throat, Nick smoothed her hair, cupping her cheek. “You could have given me notice,” he whispered unevenly.

  “Nah. It’s more fun this way. You’re so predictable,” she said as she patted his bare bottom.

  “Predict this,” Nick muttered, hauling them both to their feet and lifting her in his arms. He carried her into his bed and lowered her carefully. Though his body was aroused and needing hers, the softness in his eyes stunned her. Silver welcomed him into her arms, her knight, her lover—Nick, real and honest and giving himself to her once more.

  The woman dressed in a navy business suit and slacks, gold bracelets on her wrists and gold hoops in her ears, wore Nick’s ring, the rubies slashing in the Celtic design. Silver’s cropped black hair gleamed blue-black in die light of Palladin, Inc.’s Denver conference room, her body lithe as she pointed out the bottle design, the marketing potential for the Celtic coin, the unique fragrance that would be Palladin’s Silver’s Signature Fragrance. The scent was both sensual and as fresh as the pine trees on Tallchief Mountain, as moody as Tallchief Lake, and the presentation had the magic of legends, of whimsy, of romance. Silver’s primary presentation would begin the marketing and production wheels, and she would consult and add to the promotion, complete with television appearances.

  Nick sat quietly at the conference table, listening to Silver’s smooth, feminine voice point out the advantages of the unique scent curling around the room, which could be used in soaps, shampoos, massage oils—He sank down in his chair a bit, watching the males in the room who were sniffing lightly. He glared at them; one too many sniffs and he’d—Nick sucked in his breath as Silver’s smoky gray gaze locked with his and a flash of sensual heat passed between them, a reminder that their second loving had been even more intense. A feminine woman, her fingers flowing lightly over his body, Silver did have those nice little savage edges—ones where she demanded and taunted and greedily took her fill. He shifted uneasily in the conference chair, willing his body to settle.

  As though sensing his thoughts, Silver said, “I wore the scent this morning with good results. Someone with experience noted the scent—”

  “Aye!” Joel and Rafe said together, grinning down the table to Nick. He lowered his head and fought the damning flush moving up to his cheeks. Silver immediately crossed to his chair and smoothed his hair reassuringly. She straightened his tie and leveled a look at Joel and Rafe that caused them to look innocent, straightening in their chairs.

  Mamie wiped a tear from her eyes with a leopard-printed handkerchief. “Continue, my dear.”

  Silver continued, pointing out the unique honey color of the liquid which would deepen the hues of the blue-green bottle, the unique stopper. This professional woman did not resemble the woman prowling his house in his discarded T-shirts and shorts, with socks flopping overlong at her toes. Nick cherished that look, but admired her sleek business look now.

  Under him, straining for breath, for the pleasure they sought together, Silver had cried out his name. She wore his ring, and yet Nick feared she would leave him. This morning she had been high on success, taking him as her trophy. He rather liked that friendly little pat on his bare backside when she had bounced from the bed. Nick had managed to drag himself into the shower, and Silver had stepped into it with him—For the moment, the chest and Silver’s legend had been forgotten.

  But the chest lay unopened, waiting... He respected her, a thorough woman, set upon her course, and yet he feared that the chest—that life—could tear her away. Silver had created a scent for Palladin, Inc. on site, just as she had promised. She had begun the marketing wheels, and she was a woman who would complete her life. Nick prayed that he would be in it, when she found all that she wanted—the pearls and peace with her sister’s death.

  After the meeting and congratulations, Nick noted the circles beneath Silver’s eyes and tugged her from the room, carrying her briefcase and presentation case. “You’re going home and you’re going to rest. But first—”

  She resisted his shove, his hand at the back of her waist, looking up over her shoulder to him. “There you sat, glowering at me. You’re not exactly in a good mood.”

  “Oh, I’m in a mood, all right. I wasn’t prepared to have to have them sniffing your new fragrance. It seems too—intimate.”

  Silver’s black winged brows lifbed. “Nick, the scent is for women... first to please them and then possibly to attract men. A fragrance is meant to be sniffed—”

  “In here.” To reassure himself that he hadn’t dreamed this morning, Nick shoved Silver into a darkened office supply room.

  Silver crossed her arms in front of her, eyeing him. “I detest being shoved—”

  He locked the door, lifted her to sit on a counter and reached for her, moving between her legs. “I want you.”

  “My, my.” Then she grinned, curling her legs around his hips, and Nick’s body pounded, hardened instantly. His skin was too hot and tight, hunger too strong to deny, primitive instincts rising in the need to claim her, Nick sank into the scent and feel of the woman he loved deeply. His mouth fused to hers, his hand found her breast, cupping it. treasuring it. In a quick agile movement, Silver stripped off her hose and briefs and leaped upon him, meeting his passion as though she feared Fate would haul them apart.

  “You realize that you have begun sniffing me. Just that bit at my ear and my throat, as if you can bring me into you. You’ve begun to make me very self-conscious, and I think you can tell when I want you desperately.... I’m not going home with you, Nick,” Silver whispered unevenly after he had lowered her to the floor and she lay soft and wilted against him, his hand treasuring her freed breast.

  His other hand brought her left hand to his lips, treasuring her. His voice was stripped of emotion as though he’d expected this moment. “You’ve got the scent you wanted. Mamie has ap proved it, and now you’re going after something, you need something else.”

  “Yes. I need something else.” She eased her torn bra from her blouse and smoothed the missing button on his shirt, kissing his bare chest and looking up into his eyes. “I have something to finish. I’m leaving. Don’t call me. I have to do this on my own.”

  “I’ll come if you need me.”

  Her hand smoothed his cheek; he kissed her palm. “I know.”

  Nick studied the small, ominous chest that Silver had left in his keeping. She’d walked out of his life easily enough, just two weeks ago. It was now the first of August and hot and sultry with dreams that weren’t coming true. Not a telephone call, nothing but business memorandums sent to Mamie, ideas Silver had tossed over the lines, which had been routed to him.

  Unable to sleep, to think about anything but Silver, Nick plunged into work in the Denver offices, and finally, under Ma mie’s amused direction, he’d been ordered away from Palladin’s marketing staff. Two members of the team had threatened to quit if Mamie did not peel Nick from them and let them do their jobs. Sent into exile, Nick brooded in his empty house.

  Outside, the August sun burned the fields, ripened the tomatoes, and Nick had traced Silver to her patents. That first week, on impulse, he’d flown to Seattle and, for hours, hovered outside their home in the misty night rain. It had taken all his strength to walk away, to leave Silver to do what she must.

  He hadn’t collected Silver, but two scarred alley toms and a skinny starved puppy had claimed him. Because he felt like an uncollected orphan, Nick had stuffed them into his plane and took them back to his ranch in Amen Flats. After a battle with a country rooster, the city toms were happy in the barn. The puppy slept in his box on the sunlit porch, amid torn socks and an old chewed boot

  The second week, Silver had stayed at Mamie’s, working on the signature scent, which would be launched in March of the next year. Mamie had sent a directive that she and Silver were very busy with prom
otional work, and when she needed her grandson’s presence, she would notify him—the order had been a professional cease and desist, hands-off and stay away. Nick did not doubt that Silver had made the request to Mamie.

  Fine. Silver wanted him apart from her private life. What had he expected? What had he given her? How could he protect her, if she needed him?

  The empty house, filled with her scents, her panties in his laundry room, the bed they had shared, mocked him. Whatever Silver sought—his gaze swung to the small chest—it wasn’t him....

  Nick found the Tallchief cradle in the shadows, newly refinished, a task he had enjoyed. Silver deserved to have bits of her Tallchief heritage; she had inherited tatents—

  She hadn’t asked for tenderness, for courtship, and he hadn’t provided—In a short time, he’d given her nothing, pushed her into exhaustion, challenged her. Bred from magic and love, Silver had known a loving family; he’d sprung from greed and passion and a dark life. He knew how to take, to survive, but did he know how to give? He didn’t have a drop of magic to offer her, his life stripped and cold without her. A taste of delight, of Silver, and he knew the difference—

  I love you... I love you... I love you.... The memory mocked him, tore at him painfully.

  He touched the cradle with the toe of his boot, rocking it. Made by Tallchief to support his growing family, the cradle was meant for babies and dreams, not a pretty decoration stuffed with dolls or magazines. Nick inhaled sharply. What would he know of softness, of holding his own child close against him, of seeing his baby nurse at Silver’s breast—

  In the next heartbeat, a storm hurled through him, leaving him cold and furious...and wounded, if he admitted the truth. Damn her. She’d left him. She hadn’t called. He wanted anger and instead fear came creeping—would she come back?

  “Aye. There is the chest, after all. She’d wager her life for that. And to take it from me, she’ll have to come back.” He quickly drained the iced tea, and in a violent movement flung the glass into the fireplace. After a moment, the buzzing of a small plane overhead caused him to go outside. He walked into the herb garden Silver had loved, bending to claim lavender and sweetwood and thyme.