“Thank you,” I murmur, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “That’s nice of you.”
He arches a brow. “You calling me a pussy?”
“You can fire me. I won’t call you anything.”
“You don’t work for me. I’m just a consultant.”
“Who could demand I be fired.”
“The last thing on my mind where you’re concerned, Ms. Woods, is terminating your job.” And with that coded, softly spoken comment delivered, he gives me his back and starts down the stairs, leaving me reeling and staring after him.
He stops at the next level, casting me a look over his shoulder. “You walking, or do I need to carry you, too?”
I blanch. Carry me? Is he teasing me, and if so, what is happening? Where is the man who treated me like the enemy just hours before? “I don’t need to be carried,” I declare indignantly, marching toward him. He moves along as well, and judging from the low rumble of sexy laughter he leaves in his wake, my reaction pleases him. I don’t understand this man. I really don’t.
We reach the exit and Jensen buzzes in the driver, who comes in so he can grab my bag. Jensen holds the door and motions me forward. I move past him, so close I can feel his body heat and smell his wonderful, masculine cologne.
Stepping outside, I’m surprised to find the town car replaced by a limo but don’t ask questions. More space is welcome with Jensen around, and when he holds the door open for me, I happily take advantage of it, sliding all the way to the other side of the car. I’ve just settled into place and dumped my purse and briefcase beside me when Jensen erases the distance between us and claims the seat directly across from me, his back to the window separating us from the driver.
“I believe you wanted this,” he says, reaching into his briefcase and offering me my cell phone.
“Yes,” I say, taking it, my pulse leaping at the possibility of what I might find in my text messages. “Thank you.”
He knocks on the window behind us and the car starts moving. “I took the liberty of keying in my number. Hope you don’t mind.”
Yes, I mind. What has he seen on my phone? “I needed your number,” I reply noncommittally.
“Nice dodge there, Ms. Woods. And nice to know you have the skills to navigate a conversation diplomatically.”
“I thought nice was for pussies,” I say, the automatic retort overcoming my dislike for the word choice.
“So it is,” he chuckles, a dark strand of hair touching his brow.
I don’t reply, too distracted by my phone, and unable to resist anymore, I glance down at my screen, punching a button to get to the text messages, reading the one from Katie that arrived last night. I’m calling in sick and going to Texas with David. I need to know if he and I are real. I’ll call you when I get to Houston.
I glance up at him. “You saw my message from Katie, didn’t you?”
“Not intentionally. The phone was on the floor and I reached down to get it as it came through. I take it Katie is an employee of the hotel?”
I cringe inwardly at my stupidity for bringing this up. Katie could have been anyone to him. “She’s a good employee.”
“Relax. I have much bigger things to worry about than one employee who’s made a bad decision.”
“But if layoffs happen, you’ll choose her.”
“Whoever takes over the properties in Meredith’s place will make that decision.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, all signs of humor fading away. “But you do need to go on this trip remembering that you aren’t responsible for anyone’s choices but your own. Not Meredith’s. Not this Katie person. Not any other employee who doesn’t have their head on straight.”
I stare into those green eyes of his and it takes me a moment to think clearly, and ask, “You think Meredith doesn’t have her head on straight?”
He straightens, and his withdrawal speaks as easily as do his words. “She’s failing to turn a profit.”
“Then why not just sell out and get out?”
“Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, at least not yet, I can’t sell my stock to anyone but the board members, who will destroy the company.”
“And that matters to you, why?”
“Because Meredith was the only one of my father’s siblings by his side when he died,” he surprises me by sharing. “She mattered to him and therefore she matters to me. The question for me has to be if I can turn around the company if I stay in this mess.”
I’m shocked that he is talking so openly to me, and relieved that he feels real again, not cold and callous. “And so far? What do you think?”
“‘We’ll see,’ is all I can say at this point.”
“Meredith told me a lot of people will get laid off if you don’t help her hold off the board.”
“She’s right, but I have thousands of my own employees to think about as well. Hurting my financial position, which is what the board will do if they destroy the company rather than save this operation, hurts the security of my employees. I either have to turn this around or get out.”
His cell phone rings and he digs it out of his briefcase, grimacing as he punches the “answer” button. “Tell me you got me the numbers,” he says to whoever he’s talking to, and rather than listening in, I grab my iPad from my briefcase.
I power up and log in to my company e-mail, finding my inbox filled with questions about Jensen. Seems everyone is trying to figure out exactly why he’s here and what to think of him. I know I am. And despite my good intentions not to be nosy, I find myself listening in to his conversation about some business decision with his own company, and his knowledge and control over the situation is both sexy and confidence building. He’s sharper than Meredith, hungrier, too. Meredith doesn’t evoke respect but rather demands results, but as I continue to listen to Jensen’s conversation, I am ready to admit he evokes more than passion in me. I respect his skill, but I still fear he’s more the Wolf of Wall Street than Prince Charming.
I glance up at him, and his gaze meets mine, and I swear there’s a hungry look in his eyes that is one part man and one part beast. The effect has me tingling all over and fighting a flashback from last night, remembering his hands, those skilled, wonderful hands, all over my body. I decide right then that a fairy tale prince is boring. At least once in her life, every girl needs a really sexy, deliciously male wolf.
Part Six: Rules
My hope that I could sneak into a bathroom in the airport and call Katie is smashed when the limo pulls up to a private hangar where a jet waits for our exclusive use. I peer out of the window and then glance at Jensen. “That’s expensive.”
“My company is profitable, something this one hasn’t achieved.”
“But your company wasn’t successful when you took it over?” I ask, remembering what Meredith had said in our earlier meeting.
“It was crumbling worse than this one.”
“That’s impressive. I hope the board lets you work your magic again.”
A look of surprise flickers in his gaze and there is a subtle shift in the air. He gives me a nod. “Thank you, Ms.Woods,” he says, acknowledging the compliment, but his dismissal of my comment about the board is unsettling, leaving me certain he’s far from decided to save Meredith or the hotels.
The driver opens the limo door and I reach for my briefcase, but Jensen grabs it first. “I’ve got it.” But he doesn’t exit the car and neither do I. Somehow, we are staring at each other, and that bond we’d had last night charges the air and tingles through me. Unbidden, my nipples tighten and my thighs ache, and I can feel my cheeks flushing. This man affects me too easily, and it’s scary enough to set me in motion, scooting out of the vehicle. I don’t want to be a fool. He is savvy and successful. He could use me and discard me far too quickly, and while my head sees all the problems with that, my body doesn’t seem to care. Once I’m outside, the hot New York air does nothing to soothe my skin and body; it merely makes me sticky, my black silk blouse clinging to me when
I am already wet for all the wrong reasons. And this time I don’t have tequila to blame.
Jensen joins me. I’m far from composed, so I quickly distance myself from him, darting several steps forward to stare at the fancy jet. Jensen follows, stepping to my side and sliding my briefcase over my shoulder. “Have you ever flown in a private plane?”
“No,” I say and because I need to fill the space between us with something other than all the heat he stirs in me, I overshare, saying the only thing that comes to mind. “The closest thing I’ve ever come to this was first class with stepfather number three. Unfortunately, he was also very into women who weren’t my mother.”
He steps closer, angling so that I have to face him. “How many stepfathers have you had?”
“I’m on number four.”
“Where’s your father?”
“He died of cancer when I was thirteen.”
“Were you close to him?”
“Yes. He was...everything to me and to my mother.” I shake my head, irritated that I let him rattle me enough to get me talking about things better left unsaid. “Don’t we need to go?”
He doesn’t move, his expression unreadable, and nervous energy has me ready to crawl out of my skin. “Please stop staring at me. I shouldn’t have told you that. I don’t know why I did.”
“I’m glad you did,” is all he says, giving me no idea what he was thinking or why he’d been staring at me. “Let’s board,” he adds, his hand coming down on my back, a gentle touch that could be casual. It doesn’t feel casual. It feels intimate, seductive, right in as many ways as it is wrong, and I don’t move away or object. I let him touch me, and I revel in every moment until his hand falls away and I am holding the handrail and taking the steps.
Entering the plane, I find two seating areas to my left and right, each with a seat facing each other, and farther down the row is a restaurant style booth and a mini bar. I turn to face Jensen and gasp as I find myself toe-to-toe with him, my hand flattening on his chest just as it had last night.
I suck in air and snatch it away, not daring to make eye contact. “Where’s the bathroom? Front or back of the plane?”
“Back of the plane,” he tells me, and there is a hint of amusement to his voice that tells me my reaction to our touch is far more transparent than I want it to be with a man who’s made me off limits.
“Thanks,” I murmur, rotating to drop my briefcase on the seat to my right. Rushing down the slim aisle, I dig out my cell phone from my purse as I walk and the instant I’m inside the tiny bathroom stall, I dial Katie. Frustratingly, the call goes direct to voice mail and I quickly send her a detailed text. I stare at the screen and will her to reply, giving up after a full minute of nothingness.
Looking up, I stare at myself in the mirror, swiping at the wild mess that is my long blonde hair, wishing I had on more than the barely-there outline of lipstick that remains. I start to dig out the tube from my purse and stop myself. I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to look good for Jensen. And who else would I look good for on this plane? I zip my purse again and give myself another inspection in the mirror, trying to find the woman I know as me who would not let herself be this out of control. She’s sure not on the plane right now and she needs to get her ass on board.
Inhaling, I open the door, willing myself to focus on the business at hand. Jobs are on the line. My job is on the line. I don’t know how I became the person convincing Jensen to stay invested in the hotels, but I have, and the pressure is immense.
Moving down the aisle again, I find Jensen sitting in the lounge area where I’d dropped my bag, and I know I should sit with him. I know I should, but I’m hoping to reach Katie before we take off and need at least a little privacy. Snatching my bag, I don’t look at him as I sit in the opposite lounge area, buckling up and digging my iPad from my briefcase.
“Afraid I’ll bite?”
I glance over at him. “No, but I do and I figure that might get me kicked off the plane.”
“Depends on why you do it and how hard.”
My lips part in surprise and he laughs, and I try to be scandalized—after all, he still could be married and now he’s my boss, even if he doesn’t claim that title. Sort of. Isn’t he? Either way, it doesn’t seem to matter, though. I love his laugh too much. It’s deep. It’s raw and male, and it’s sexy. The effect has me hyperaware of him, and I have to cross my arms in front of my chest when, to my complete and utter disbelief, my nipples suddenly tighten all over again, my body seemingly no longer under my control but his. Even with “Mad Max,” who I was really attracted to at first, I was never out of sorts like this. Desperate for a distraction, I power up my iPad, trying to tune out the sensations I’m feeling.
“No response?” he queries.
“No response,” I confirm, pulling up my e-mail to start answering what I can before we’re in the air, but my brain is such mush, I only manage to clear four queries from my box before we’re moving.
We start to taxi down the runway and I change my screen to my MCAT study guide. The moment we lift off in the air, I dare to glance in Jensen’s direction to find him deeply immersed in some document he’s studying. His profile is strong, his personality stronger. Maybe he’s a bastard like Meredith accused him of being, but I’m not so sure. Why does being successful and having drive mean you’re a bastard? I’m not naïve. My mother has assured that, and I don’t believe in fairy tales, but I still really need to believe in people the way my father always did.
Jensen looks up as if he senses my attention, and for several seconds we just look at each other. We seem to do a lot of that, but then we aren’t touching each other, so what else is there? I guess that’s why I don’t look away. I can’t say really. I just...don’t. And he doesn’t and everything I’d felt just looking at him last night gets more clear and present every time we do this. There is something about this man that drags me into the center of some erotic spell and wraps me up all tight and warm. And it’s dangerous. So very dangerous. I don’t know if he’s that bastard. I don’t know what his agenda is. I don’t know if he’s really married. That’s the one that gets to me.
Forcefully, I cut my gaze and lean my seat back, rolling my body toward the window and trying to focus on the material I’ve spent every evening studying for weeks, at the expense of sleep. Almost instantly my lashes are heavy and when the plane levels off to a smooth sail, I am officially sleepy. Reluctantly, I straighten my seat to stay alert, but still I shut my eyes, and for just a moment I let them, promising I’ll read another chapter in a minute.
* * * *
I wake with a jolt and sit up to find Jensen squatted down on the floor beside me, and if that isn’t a shock enough, the way the plane is shaking around us sure is. I glance out of the window, tensing with the flicker of lightning in the not so distance sky. “Oh God. Are we crashing?”
Jensen chuckles. “No. We aren’t crashing or I wouldn’t be sitting here as calmly as I am. I’d be up front, trying to do the pilot’s job.”
“You know how to fly?”
“Yes. I know how to fly. And believe me, this is all normal. We just hit some bad weather.”
“Then why are you on the floor?”
“Because despite all of the shaking, you didn’t wake up.” He holds up my iPad. “Not even when this flew onto the ground. I didn’t want it to take a slide down the aisle and end up get broken.”
I straighten, bringing him into focus, finding his jacket and tie missing, two buttons on his white shirt loose, and a dark sprinkle of hair peeking from the top. My brain can’t seem to process proper word usage, but I manage, “That was...nice of you.”
He arches a brow. “Enough with the nice already.” The plane jolts and he falls forward, one of his hands going to the arm of my seat, the other to my knee.
Our gazes collide, and the plane jolts so badly that I actually grab his arm and hold on. “You need to buckle in,” I hiss. ”You’re going to get hurt.”
“Yes,” he agrees at the same moment we hit an air pocket and drop several feet, and I don’t even think about what I’m doing. I cling to him, holding him down and just holding on period. His arm slides around me, and somehow when we level off again, I end up with my face in his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his hand stroking my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. “We’re okay.”
“You can’t know that.” I lean back, but I can’t seem to move. I don’t move my hands, despite the realization that we are far too intimate. “You have to buckle up. What is the pilot saying? You should talk to him.”
“I already did. We’ll be fine.” The plane seems to steady a bit. “See. Already the air is improving.” He hands me my iPad again. “You keep throwing this at me.”
“I’m a thrower. I got it from my mother. Stepfathers numbers two and four have stitches she gave them.”
“I think I should be scared.”
“Just don’t piss me off.”
“I’m pretty sure I already have.”
“You have,” I assure him. “But seeing you at my place of work had me too flustered to throw things.”
“I guess I got lucky.”
I swipe the screen to make sure it works, bringing the MCAT study guide to life on my screen. “Thankfully it still works.”
“So it’s true.”
“What’s true?”
“You’re going to med school in six months.”
“How did you know that?”
“You don’t keep it a secret and I have a way of getting people to talk.”
The plane jerks and tension curls in my belly. “Yes. I’m going to medical school. I guess that makes me disposable.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it makes you more valuable. You might be loyal to Meredith and the other employees, but you aren’t trying to jockey for some corporate position either.”
Relief washes over me. “No. Of course not. I never intended to be where I’m at now. I came in as a temp and just clicked with Meredith.”
Need You Now Page 5