Did the dashing prince also stroke his fingers up and down Cinderella’s calf, making her shiver with awareness?
And how come her dashing prince was wearing a shirt with brightly colored parrots and tropical palms? What was it with him and the loud prints? Didn’t he know he stood out without having to use his style choices to draw attention?
The second shoe slid onto her foot, and this time, he didn’t even try to hide that he was copping a feel. She stared, transfixed, and watched his big hands and nimble fingers map her leg from ankle to knee.
She started to breath heavily—a signal that shot a blast of cold air into the middle of her response. Better shut this down now before things got out of hand.
“Why are you playing me like this, Ryan? What’s in it for you?”
He didn’t stop caressing her leg. In fact, he’d moved from one leg to both—running his hands up and down in long, slow strokes. When his hands slid up to her knees, they disappeared under her skirt, and unless she was high, he gently separated her legs in the process.
It was unfortunate her imagination chose that moment to picture his face between her legs licking and teasing as she moaned her pleasure.
Fuck.
“You’re not being played.” His words were precise. Direct. Emphatic.
Oh, right. She’d said something snarky, thinking he’d take offense and back off.
He stood, took her hand, and hauled her from the car. On the sidewalk, they stood chest to chest and stared at each other in silence.
“I’m going to walk you to the building entrance, and you’re going to let me.”
Jen stiffened. “Say again?”
Ryan sniggered when she broke out the imperious tone she saved for especially awkward moments.
“Give it a rest, lady. We both know I’m not stepping over any lines. You want me to push your buttons, and I’m fine with that. For now.”
She had some sort of teenage brain fart and gruffly huffed to emphasize her indignation at his audacity. The only thing was, she was far more turned on than outraged, and her pouty retort proved it.
“You’re taking liberties with me, Mr. Lloyd.”
Oh. My. God! Did she always come off sounding like an uptight virgin? Taking liberties? Jesus. What century was she living in?
Ryan’s amused laughter did strange things to her composure.
“I’m going to do a lot more than take some liberties, Ms. Carlton.”
“Shut up,” she snapped.
“Oh, burn,” he teased. “Come on. Let’s get you to safety before your panties end up in my back pocket, and you’re forced to slap my face.”
She huffed, puffed, and stomped toward the security door to her building. How the hell had she lost control of the Ryan Lloyd situation? Did he have some kind of sexual mojo capable of cruising over, around, under, and past her defenses?
Well, shit. That wasn’t good.
When they reached the front door, Jen was still deciding which snotty brush-off to throw in his face. She turned to say something, and he caught her off guard, pushing her against the door with his body.
His voice held a slight growl, and she felt his breath on her face. “What do you say we save some time and forget about the pretense, hmm?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Her words might have held more power if she hadn’t bit her lip at the end.
He leaned into her and got so close to her face that she froze.
“When you talk to my mother, tell her the Quinn plan is a day late and a dollar short. I’m engaged elsewhere.”
The lump in her throat was hard to swallow. “Um, you are?”
“Yes,” was all he said.
She thought he might try to kiss her, but to Jen’s dismay, he didn’t. He just covered her with his bigger body and stared into her eyes while their lips almost touched.
When panic made her reach blindly behind her for the door handle, he softly kissed her cheek and murmured, “John isn’t the only one discovering a treasure that was right in front of him the whole time.”
Ba-boom. That was what her heart did.
He stepped back and touched the side of her face. His smile was gentle and held a surprising warmth.
“It’s okay to run, Jen. You probably should. But be aware that I’m the long-distance sort. A fast sprint doesn’t interest me, so the more you run, the closer I’ll follow.”
“But I don’t like you,” she miserably whined.
He chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that, and we’ll see where we end up.”
She felt strangely satisfied about him standing there while she punched in her security code, entered the building, and closed the door between them. She liked that he waited to be sure she was safe. His concern had a very alpha feel to it that didn’t exactly turn her off.
Chapter 8
Monday. Ugh.
Shuffling papers on her desk, Jen spared a baleful glare at the cloudy gray skies outside her window. The dismal weather matched her mood. Nothing like being agitated all weekend to make a new workweek start off with a fizzle.
At least, John was in a chipper mood. The second his feet hit the pavement this morning, he launched into an enthusiastic re-telling of how Friday had ended for him.
Apparently, things with Samantha went better than expected.
John dominated their conversation on this morning’s walk—not that she cared. Jen was more than okay with him doing all the talking. If she opened her mouth, there was a real possibility the subject would be Ryan, so her sense of self-preservation kept her silent.
“Good morning, John,” Samantha called out as they approached her reception desk.
Jen did a passably good job of curtailing her shocked reaction to hearing Samantha speak in familiar terms with their boss. John’s boyish grin told her of his delight.
The John-Samantha plan was moving right along.
“Samantha,” he replied in a voice Jen had never heard before. She did a quick double take and observed their curious exchange.
“Good morning. Did you have a nice ride in?”
The receptionist turned half a dozen shades of scarlet and shook her head at John as if he was a naughty boy.
“Yes. Thank you.”
They didn’t say more, and Jen churned over the missing details. Had John sent a car for Samantha?
Well, well, well. This was a surprising and very fast step forward.
Someone interrupted, momentarily drawing his attention elsewhere, so Jen studied Samantha. She was watching John with more than a passing interest. She also touched her hair a few times and smoothed the front of her blouse—sure signs that things were moving right along.
Jen leaned over the reception desk and caught her gaze. With a sly smile working her mouth, she winked at Samantha and said, “I like peanut brittle.”
Samantha blinked and asked, “What?”
“That thank-you gesture you’re pondering? It’s as simple as peanut brittle.” She reached out and patted Samantha’s arm. “I told you.”
The receptionist giggled. “He’s a mess, Jen. A serious, undignified mess. But he’s adorable about it. Know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And Chelsea thinks he’s so cool. He sent her a science kit that arrived bright and early Saturday, so my weekend was all about John and how important science is for girls.”
Jen snickered. “He’s a feminist. Is that what you’re saying?”
Instead of answering her silliness, Samantha gave Jen a smirk and came straight at her. “And what about the other Mr. Lloyd? Is he also an adorable mess?”
Five unintelligible interjections burst from Jen’s mouth, much to Samantha’s apparent delight.
“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. John also thinks his brother has the hots for you.”
As if she’d lined her up for a kill shot, Samantha’s unintentional zinger exploded center mass inside Jen and sent her spine rigid. Hearing Samantha’s take on the Ryan situation remin
ded her that blending personal and professional was Jen’s no-go zone.
It didn’t matter that she’d fantasized all weekend about the wealthy yet raggedy-ass wanderer. Dirty snippets were one thing, but reality was another. She liked working in the heart of corporate America, and the fast-paced, high-anxiety environment didn’t suit everyone. In her case, she’d found the recipe that worked for her. A recipe that gave her the challenges and benefits of a career while preserving her privacy so she could live as she wanted. Without judgment or interference. It was already hard enough to be taken seriously as a woman.
Adopting a dismissive air, Jen shifted into her badass executive handler persona and simply said, “He’ll be gone when the next adventure beckons.”
She expected Samantha to be put off by her tone and words, but the other woman gave her a perplexed look and a frown.
“Don’t you know?”
“Know what?” Jen snapped.
“Ryan isn’t going anywhere. The brick and mortar project got the green light.”
Beyond shocked at this news, Jen’s head jerked back. “From who?” she demanded anxiously.
“Well, John, for one, I imagine. I mean, he certainly gave me the impression he was one hundred percent on board. Mrs. Lloyd had a say too, didn’t she?” Samantha gave a small shrug. “And since the original idea came from Mrs. Lloyd’s twin, Grace Brewster was also in Ryan’s corner.”
Anxiety ricocheted inside her. Connie and Grace were always up to something, so it didn’t surprise her that the two were still pushing for Lloyd Global to open a physical storefront targeting Ryan’s outdoor division. Strike while the iron was hot.
The Quinn Montgomery nonsense suddenly made sense. If Ryan was tethered to one place, what better time to pin him to the butterfly board with a convenient spouse?
Not sure what bothered her more—a big decision like this flying right past her or the dual issues of Ryan in residence and a bidding war for his mangy ass—she stiffened even more and pursed her lips.
“John! Come on,” she grumbled. “Gotta go.”
Shuffling him into the office as quickly as possible was Jen’s priority, and it didn’t matter if she came off like a bitch. Ignoring Samantha’s anxious murmur, she marched from the reception desk to her boss and tersely cut his conversation short.
“Sorry,” she croaked with no credible sincerity to the gaggle of people holding the boss hostage. “Send a memo.”
John looked at her like she was crazy, and maybe she was. Marching off and fully expecting him to catch up, Jen wasn’t surprised when he drew alongside her and matched his steps to hers.
“What’s that expression all the cool kids use?” he muttered with no small amount of actual sarcasm. “What crawled up your skirt?”
“I’m rethinking my life plan,” she answered in a snippy voice.
Awkwardly shoving him into the first office she could—which happened to be hers—Jen shut the door and rounded on her amused, slightly shocked boss.
“Is there something you should be telling me, John?”
He looked at her long and hard in that way only he could. “I’m pretty sure the answer is yes, but honestly, Jen, there’s a lot to choose from. Can you be more specific?”
Ordinarily, she’d get the answers she needed by asking a slow, specific order of questions. Today, though, her usual approach flew south for the winter.
“Is this whole crazy scheme involving Quinn Montgomery part of a master plan to lure Ryan into the city by offering something he wants and then shackling him in place with a convenient marriage-merger?” Her voice had started off calmly but risen steadily until her disbelief was quite loud at the end.
“Oh,” John answered. “You heard about the storefront, didn’t you? Shit, Jen. Does it really look like a scheme?”
“You can’t be that obtuse, John. Think about it. No. Never mind. You know what?”
She tugged on her prim, buttoned-up suit jacket and announced her displeasure through gritted teeth.
“Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business what your family does. You should run along to your office. You have a meeting on your schedule that you need time to prepare for.”
“Jen, I—”
She cut him off with a dismissive wave. “I have work to do. We’ll talk later. About business,” she added flatly.
He hemmed and hawed a few more times, but she never budged. This was business, she reminded herself over and over. It was not personal. And that was the way she wanted it, so there was no use in acting on her feelings. Business wasn’t about feelings.
When he finally shuffled out and her door shut, Jen’s shoulders slumped for a moment. A week ago, she thought her life was going pretty good. Today, she was questioning what the hell she was doing.
Throwing herself into work, she found refuge in the thousand things waiting for her attention.
“Mom, can you take a breath? I need you to slow down.”
John pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. His mother was talking a mile a minute, and he was only getting every third or fourth word.
He heard Ryan’s name a half a dozen times and something about a reception. She berated him for ignoring Uncle Howie’s birthday. In the background, he heard his Aunt Grace calling out comments. When Quinn’s name entered the tirade, he snapped to attention and even rose from his seat.
“Mom. I want you to stop pushing Quinn at Ryan.”
She chuckled and pooh-poohed his comment, so he made it a demand.
“Put me on speaker,” he growled. “Aunt Grace? Are you there?”
He heard her reply and then wasted no time laying down the law.
“I’m putting the Nelson twins on notice. Cut it out right now. I don’t care how you do it, but you shut down this disaster-in-waiting and do it in a way that won’t piss off Ryan. Do you both understand what I’m saying?”
His mother sounded all sorts of amused and confused when she answered.
“My goodness, John. You sound just like your father when you use that tone. Don’t growl, son! We’ll stop. Won’t we, Grace?” she said. “But what’s the big deal? Am I missing something?”
“Ryan’s attention is elsewhere. And so is mine, so don’t shuffle the deck chairs.”
His comment met with silence. Two or three seconds ticked by and he realized his gaffe.
He detected the sound of his mom and aunt whispering. How the hell could he run a huge global company yet be so incredibly stupid? Was he really that dense?
Completely out of the blue, she asked, “Is Jenna around? I need her help with something.”
“Leave Jen alone, Mom.”
“Why?” his mother asked. “Are you involved with her, son? Is that what’s bothering you?”
“Mom! What? No. Good lord. You’re making me crazy. Just leave Jen alone, okay?”
His mother’s amused laugh grated on his nerves. “I come back from the beach house tomorrow, so let’s try for lunch on Wednesday, okay?”
He silently swore but agreed and quickly moved to end the call. A soft knock on his door signaled Jen’s arrival. John looked at her as he put the phone down. She was avoiding eye contact.
Great. First, his mom’s fishing expedition, and now, deliberate dismissal from Jen. Sure, why not?
She pulled her iPad in front of her and started ticking off the things he needed to know, so he had no choice but to remain businesslike and try to keep up with her.
“And finally, don’t forget that I’m on vacation starting Wednesday.”
John flinched at the bluntness in her voice and reacted to the vacation announcement with total shock.
“You can’t go on vacation. I need you.”
“John. We have an agreement,” she drawled with a sigh.
He paused inside for a second and then let loose. “I’ll pay you. Time and a half. Double time! On top of the vacation pay.”
She picked a piece of invisible lint off her sleeve and coldly said, “No.”
“Jen,” he burst out frantically. “You’re killing me here.”
“Is this about Samantha? Because you don’t need me, John. Not anymore. You’re doing fine, and to be honest, playing Cyrano de Bergerac is not my thing. Have a little faith in yourself.”
Rubbing his forehead, he frowned at her sharp words. Everything felt like it was turning to shit.
He knew that arguing about her vacation would be useless. She negotiated for that the hardest when her contract was drawn up. Until this moment, he hadn’t cared that she demanded an ironclad vacation policy. A policy that included a clause for a total embargo on contact of any kind for the duration of her personal time.
She thrust her chin at an angle that dared him to be a dick, but instead of reacting personally, all he could think of was how fucking funny it was to imagine Ryan dealing with Jen Carlton when she rocked her badass attitude.
He threw in the towel straightaway, hoping his acquiescence would dampen some of the snarling antagonism.
“You have me over a hurdle with the vacation, Jen. It’s bad timing. For me,” he hurriedly assured her when she glared at him.
The squaring of her shoulders reminded John he was on a slippery slope and had better get it together.
“I apologize for whining. You don’t need my bullshit.”
“Thank you for realizing that’s what you were doing.”
He nodded once.
She came back with a second comment meant to zing—and it did.
“You don’t think twice about taking personal time, so why should I?”
Ouch. Direct hit. He’d dropped everything last year to go skiing in France. Because he could, and by doing so, he effectively dumped a mess in her lap. A mess he’d expected her to deal with.
If that wasn’t the definition of being a dick-boss, he didn’t know what was.
“Point taken. Now let’s discuss the outdoor division.”
“No,” she interrupted more tersely than he’d heard her be. “You do not owe me an explanation. I just work here.”
She’d delivered that last line like a fifty-ton bomb.
Enduring (Family Justice Book 8) Page 54