Exposed: Her Undercover Millionaire
Michelle Celmer
‘Appearances could be deceiving…’Intending to expose his enemy’s foundation as a fraud meant Brandon Dilson must pose as a charity case. In reality, the laid-back ranching magnate knew all about success. It was an exquisite irony that the foundation sent him to an image consultant. And a delicious bonus that she was the gorgeously buttoned-up Paige Adams.For this self-made career woman, their wild affair was as ill-advised as it was inevitable. Not only had she mixed business with pleasure, she was about to find out she’d fallen for a too-attractive imposter. But Paige had a surprise for Brandon, as well – one that might alter the course of their lives… The Takeover For better, for worse. For business, for pleasure. These tycoons have vowed to have it all!
‘So, let’s do it,’ Brandon said.
Do it? Paige sucked in a quiet breath. She hadn’t said that out loud, had she? No, of course she hadn’t. Was he some sort of mind reader?
‘E-excuse me?’
‘You said we had to fit me for a tux, didn’t you? Let’s go.’
Oh, the tux. ‘Yes, right. Of course.’
‘What did you think I meant?’
Paige refused to answer on the grounds that it would mortify her.
Dear Reader,
My husband teases me relentlessly, because while I’m working on a book, for those eight weeks or so, the characters become living, breathing people to me. I talk about them as if they are real, because to me they are. They share dinner with us, come up during our favourite television shows.
I first meet these characters when I plot the book. The relationship is very superficial at that point. I know where they’re from, what they do for a living, where they went to school—basic stuff. When I begin writing the story, gradually I learn more about them, but they don’t always make it easy.
Take Brandon for instance. He was so busy trying to hide his true identity from Paige that I had a hard time getting a read on him. I knew he was Ronald Worth’s son, and Emma’s brother. I knew he was very bitter toward his father, but I didn’t really know why. And every time I thought I had him figured out, he would do or say something to completely confuse me! In fact, he kept me and Paige guessing all the way to the end of the book. I hope you have as much fun figuring him out as we did.
Best,
Michelle
About the Author
Bestselling author MICHELLE CELMER lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, their three children, two dogs and two cats. When she’s not writing or busy being a mom, you can find her in the garden or curled up with a romance novel. And if you twist her arm really hard you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.
Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, or write her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.
Exposed:
Her Undercover
Millionaire
Michelle Celmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my readers
Don’t miss a single book in this series!
The Takeover
For better, for worse. For business, for pleasure.
These tycoons have vowed to have it all!
Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress by Day Leclaire
Seduced: The Unexpected Virgin by Emily McKay
Revealed: His Secret Child by Sandra Hyatt
Bought: His Temporary Fiancée by Yvonne Lindsay
Exposed: Her Undercover Millionaire by Michelle Celmer
Acquired: The CEO’s Small-Town Bride by Catherine Mann
One
The man had the bluest eyes Paige Adams had ever seen.
Not to mention killer biceps, wide shoulders and the kind of all-American rugged good looks that left women swooning. Herself included. And though she didn’t usually go for men with facial hair, the neatly trimmed mustache and goatee just seemed to work. In fact, she could swear the temperature of her office rose ten degrees the minute her assistant, Cheryl, ushered him inside.
“Paige, this Brandon Dilson,” Cheryl said. “Ana Rodriguez sent him by.”
Paige shut her laptop, smoothed the front of her Kay Unger blazer and darted a glance at her reflection in the chrome pencil holder on her desk to confirm that the chignon she wore her hair in was still neatly in place. And of course, it was. She prided herself on her appearance. As an image consultant, always looking her best was a requirement of the job.
She rose from her chair, pasted on a professional yet warm smile and stuck her hand out. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dilson.”
He enfolded it in his much larger one, gripping firmly, possessively, and when his ocean-blue eyes locked on hers, and his sexy mouth tilted up into a dimpled smile—God, she loved dimples—she nearly forgot her own name.
His dishwater-blond hair was naturally wavy and a touch shaggy. Long enough to graze his shirt collar. The kind of hair a girl fantasized about running her fingers through. He wore faded jeans, a cobalt blue T-shirt and cowboy boots. And he looked damned good that way.
“The pleasure is all mine, ma’am.” His smile said he meant it.
When Ana, the director of Hannah’s Hope, the local literacy foundation, called to say she was sending over their star pupil for a consultation, a hunky cowboy was the last thing Paige had expected.
Behind him, Cheryl bit her lip and discreetly fanned her chubby face, and Paige knew exactly what she was thinking.
Who is this guy and where can I get one?
“Can I offer you a refreshment, Mr. Dilson?” Cheryl asked. “Coffee, tea, bottled water?”
He turned the smile her way. “No, thank you, ma’am.”
Manners, too. That was nice.
Paige gestured to the chair opposite her desk. “Please, sit down.”
He settled in, folding one long, muscular leg over the other, looking completely at ease. If his literacy issues or lack of education embarrassed or made him feel uncomfortable, he certainly didn’t let it show. The man oozed confidence.
She smoothed her skirt and sat primly on the edge of her chair.
“I think that might be the cleanest desk I’ve ever seen,” Mr. Dilson said, resting his elbows on the chair arms and threading his fingers together over his impressive chest.
“I like to keep things tidy,” she said. Almost to the point of being compulsive about it. If she had a therapist he would probably tell her it was a direct result of her chaotic adolescence. But her past was what it was, and rehashing it to a mental health professional wouldn’t change it.
“I see that,” he said, and something about the way he studied her made her want to squirm in her seat.
“I understand you’ll be honored with an outstanding achieve ment award at the Hannah’s Hope gala later this month. Congratulations.”
“Seeing as how every grade school student can do what I just learned, I don’t see the big deal, but they insisted.”
Gorgeous, polite and humble. Three traits that went well together. There was nothing she detested more than an arrogant man. And she had known her share.
“Did Ana explain to you what it is I do for the foundation?” she asked him.
“Not exactly.”
“I’m an event planner and image consultant.”
One brow rose slightly. “Image consultant?”
“I help people look and feel good about themselves.”
“Well, no offense, but I’m pretty happy with myself just the way I am.”
And he had every reason to be. But in her experience everyone had room for improvement.
“Have you ever been in the spotlight before, Mr. Dilson? Given a speech on stage?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
“Then my job is to give you an idea of what you should expect when you accept your award. To prepare you for the formal atmosphere of the gala. Which, as an event planner, I am also organizing.”
“So in other words, you’re going to see that I don’t make a fool out of myself. Or the foundation.”
She didn’t think that was going to be an issue. With looks like his, he would have a tremendous stage presence. She could see why Ana chose to use him as the organization’s poster child. “So you feel comfortable,” she said.
“Well, I’m not big on crowds. I usually prefer to keep things one-on-one. If you know what I mean,” he said with a wink.
If he was trying to fluster her, it was working.
She pulled a notepad and pen from the top drawer of her desk. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself.”
He shrugged. “Not much to tell. I was born in California and raised all over the country. I’ve spent the last fourteen years working as a ranch hand.”
She had the distinct feeling there was a lot more to his life than that. Like how he managed to make it into adulthood without learning to read. But she wasn’t quite sure how to word the question. Hannah’s Hope was a dream client. It could thrust her company, Premier Image and Planning LLC, into the big time. The last thing she wanted to do was offend their star pupil.
She chose her next words carefully. “How is it you came to work with the foundation, Mr. Dilson?”
“It’s Brandon,” he said, flashing her that easy smile. “And I think what you really want to know is how a man can make it to thirty without learning to read.”
He might have had literacy challenges, but he was a smart man. “How did you?”
“My mom died when I was young and my dad worked the rodeo so we moved around a lot when I was a kid. When he did manage to enroll me in school, I didn’t stay in one place long enough to learn anything. I guess you could say I fell through the cracks.”
It was sad to think how far he could have gone had he been given the proper education. “What motivated you to seek help?”
“My boss said he would make me a foreman of the ranch, but I had to improve my reading skills first, so here I am.”
“Are you married?”
“Nope.”
“Children?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
She shot him a look, and that sizzling smile tipped up the corners of his mouth again. She wondered if he had any clue how gorgeous he was.
“Just kidding,” he said.
Oh, yeah, he knew. “So that’s a no?”
“No kids.”
“Significant other?”
One brow rose up. “Why? You interested in the position?”
Oh, he had no idea. But she’d sworn a long time ago when, thanks to her mom’s latest bum boyfriend, they were kicked out of their dumpy trailer and forced to live in an even dumpier women’s shelter, she would only date educated, financially successful men. The kind who wouldn’t steal next month’s rent from her purse and use it to buy drugs or cheap whiskey, or gamble it away on a sure-thing horse.
Not that she had reason to believe Brandon was anything like her mom’s loser boyfriends. She was sure he was a perfectly nice man. And he was incredibly easy on the eyes. Like … tangy eye candy. The kind that fizzed in her mouth and made it water. He just wasn’t the kind of man she would ever date. His financial situation aside, he was too … something. Too sexy and charming. She wasn’t looking to be swept off her feet. What she wanted was a responsible, dependable, safe man. A man as driven and dedicated to his career as she was to hers. An equal. One who could take care of her if the need arose. Not that anyone ever had to before. She’d always taken care of herself. But it never hurt to have a backup plan.
“I only wondered if you’ll need an extra ticket for the gala,” she said.
“No, ma’am, I don’t need an extra ticket.”
It didn’t escape her attention that he’d managed to answer, yet still avoid the subject of a significant other. Not that it was important she know. In fact, it was probably better that she didn’t.
“I don’t suppose you own a tuxedo,” she said.
He laughed. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”
The ma’am thing was going to get old fast. She set her pen down. “You can call me Paige.”
“Okay … Paige.”
Something about the way he said her name made her face feel hot. In fact, she was beginning to sweat under her designer suit. She seriously needed to check the thermostat. Maybe the air-conditioning was on the fritz.
Or maybe her internal thermostat had gone haywire.
She resisted the urge to fan her face. “With the gala less than a month way, the first item on our agenda is to get you fitted for a rental tux.”
“With all due respect, that’s not exactly in my budget.”
She waved away his concerns. “I’m sure the foundation can cover the expense.”
His brow pulled low. “I’m not looking for a handout.”
“We’re a charitable foundation. Helping people is what we do. And the benefit is a black-tie function.”
His expression darkened. “Is that legal?”
His sudden change of demeanor, from playfully flirtatious to darkly suspicious intrigued her. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“A literacy foundation renting tuxedos for people? Sounds … unethical.”
She hadn’t really thought of it that way. But she doubted it would be a problem. “I’ll talk to Ana about it. I’m sure we can work something out.”
He seemed to acknowledge that as an acceptable answer. And though his behavior was the slightest bit … odd, she assumed it was just male pride.
She hoped he would accept the foundation’s help, as it would be a damned shame to miss the opportunity to see Brandon in a tux. He was going to look fantastic. Although she didn’t doubt that he would look even better wearing nothing at all. And the things he could probably do with that body …
“So, let’s do it,” he said.
Do it? She sucked in a quiet breath. She hadn’t said that out loud, had she? No, of course she hadn’t. Was he some sort of mind reader? “E-excuse me?”
“You said we had to fit me for a tux, didn’t you? Let’s go.”
Oh, the tux. “Yes, right. Of course.”
“What did you think I meant?”
She refused to answer on the grounds that it would mortify her. “Nothing. I just … I didn’t necessarily mean right this minute.”
He leaned forward in his seat. “No time like the present, right?”
“Well, yes, but …” She frowned, opening her laptop to check her calendar for appointments. “I have to check my schedule. I had several calls I planned to make this afternoon.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Let me guess, you’re the kind of woman who plans her workday down to the last minute.”
He said that like she was some freak of nature. Living such a spontaneous and … uninhibited lifestyle, he couldn’t possibly understand the pressures of the corporate sector. But she wasn’t totally incapable of compromise. She typically required several days’ notice for this sort of appointment, but if she moved a few things around, and stayed an extra hour at the office, she could make it work.
It’s not as if she had anything pressing waiting for her at home. Not even a pet. She was allergic to cats and considering the hours she worked, a dog was a responsibility she simply didn’t have time for.
“I suppose I could squeeze you in,” she told him. “But I’ll need to have a word with Cheryl first.”
“How ‘bout I meet you outside?”
“Sure. I’ll just be a minute.”
They stood at the same time. Even in her three-inch Manolo Blahnik pumps, he was a good five or six inches taller. She wasn’t normally intimidated by tall men. She wasn’t intimidated by anyone, but something about him put her on edge. The fact that she had to walk past him to get to the door made her nervous.
What did she think he was going to do? Pull her in his arms and kiss her stockings off?
If only.
Being around a man so blatantly sexy was a stark reminder of how long it had been since she’d had any male attention. Of any kind. She’d been so busy the last few months, she hadn’t had time to even think about dating. And sex? Hell, she could barely recall how long it had been since she’d had any. Any worth remembering, that is.
How sad was that?
She was willing to bet that Mr. Dilson could put a very pleasurable end to her dry spell. But he wasn’t relationship material and she wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of woman. Besides, she never mixed business with pleasure.
All things considered, it would be in her best interest to do her job, and stay as far the hell away from Brandon Dilson as possible.
Anyone who claimed that posing as an uneducated ranch hand to decimate the reputation of a bitter rival didn’t have its perks, had obviously never met Paige Adams.
Brandon Worth—or Brandon Dilson as the people at Hannah’s Hope had come to know him—leaned against the passenger’s side door of his pickup, soaking up the Southern California sun, considering this new development. When he’d made the decision to infiltrate Hannah’s Hope and expose the foundation as a fraud, seducing one of their contractors hadn’t been part of the plan, but a man had to do what a man had to do.
Maybe by getting closer to Ms. Adams he would uncover the nefarious practices he suspected were driving the success of Hannah’s Hope. And in the process he could finally bury its founder, Rafe Cameron.
If Brandon hadn’t chosen to stay on the family ranch despite his father’s failing health, Rafe may have never pulled off the very hostile takeover of Worth Industries, the manufacturing company that had been in his family for generations. Rumors were flying that Rafe planned to shut down the factory and sell it off in pieces, which would put more than half the city of Vista del Mar out of work and devastate the community. Brandon couldn’t help feeling personally responsible. He let his bitterness toward his father overshadow his obligation to his hometown, to his legacy. Now he was determined to make amends.
Through Hannah’s Hope, he planned to expose Rafe for the swindler that he was. Unfortunately, the volunteer he’d been working with the past couple of months knew virtually nothing about the inner workings of the charity. And he’d been careful to keep his distance from the Hannah’s Hope office, for fear that his sister, Emma, who was on the board, might make a surprise appearance. He hadn’t changed so much in fifteen years that his own sibling wouldn’t recognize him.
Paige Adams could be his ace in the hole.
Paige emerged from the building, extracting a pair of designer sunglasses from a designer bag and sliding them on. She sure had a thing for labels.
He didn’t usually go for the corporate type, but she couldn’t be any worse than his gold-digging, soul-sucking, vampire of an ex-fiancée. And when they shook hands there were so many sparks flying he thought for sure the surface of her pristine desk would ignite.
He had the sneaking suspicion that beneath the designer suit and polishe persona there was a wild woman lurking there, just itching to break free. And he would be more than happy to lend a hand. To run his fingers through her pale blond, upswept hair and mess it up a little. To kiss away that flawlessly applied lipstick.
He clearly made her nervous, a fact he would use to his advantage.
She spotted him leaning against the truck and strode over. She knew exactly where she was going, and how she planned to get there.
He grinned. They would just see about that.
As she approached, he opened the passenger door and gestured her inside. “Hop in.”
She stopped abruptly, blinking behind her shades. “Oh, um, I thought we would meet there.”
“No point in wasting gas if we’re both going to the same place. Besides, parking is a pain this time of day.”
She hesitated. Maybe she assumed because he couldn’t read well, he was also a poor driver. Or maybe she just preferred to be in control. It made sense that anyone as well put together as Ms. Adams had to have at least a few control issues.
He flashed his most charming smile. “Don’t you trust me?”
He could see her brain working to summon a response that wouldn’t offend or alienate the foundation’s star pupil. Then she peeked inside the truck. He wasn’t sure what she thought she might find in there. Or maybe she worried she would dirty her designer clothes. The suit alone must have set her back at least a week’s pay. Or maybe she was a trust-fund girl. The kind with a daddy who catered to her every whim, bought her everything her greedy little heart desired. He’d met his share of those at boarding school.
“I’ll get you back in one piece,” he said. “I promise.”
Finally, she nodded and stepped past him to climb up. Quite a feat in her high heels, so he cupped her elbow to give her a boost, which gave him an awfully nice view of her nylon-clad thigh and—hello—was that a garter? Ms. Adams was an old-fashioned girl.
“Buckle up,” he said before he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He got in and grabbed his own thrift-store sunglasses from the dash and put them on. Though he wasn’t normally into labels, he did miss his Ray-Bans. “Where to?”
“The rental establishment is just a few blocks from here, off Vista Way,” she said, looking even more on edge than she had in her office. “Do you know where that is?”
“Sure do.” Though he hadn’t lived in Vista del Mar since he was fifteen, when his dad sent him away to boarding school, he’d been in town long enough to relearn the area. Not much had changed. He backed out of the parking spot and maneuvered out of the lot into the heavy afternoon traffic. Paige sat awkwardly at the opposite end of the bench, spine stiff, nails digging into the edge of the seat.
He looked out the side window to hide a wry grin.
She was clearly the kind of woman who thrived on order and discipline. Being in control. And maybe it was a little depraved, but as he was pumping her for information, he just might have a little fun knocking her world off its axis.
Two
For a man who spent his time isolated from the world taking care of horses, Brandon sure did have a way with people.
The store she took him to for the fitting had recently opened, and Paige had been wanting to try it out, but twelve minutes after they walked through the door she knew she wouldn’t be coming back. The salesperson, a dour-looking older woman with a perpetual frown, was on the phone when they walked in and didn’t even acknowledge them. Five minutes later, when she did finally hang up, she went directly into the back room, still with no acknowledgment that they were even there, and didn’t come back out for another seven minutes.
When she finally approached them she was snooty and condescending and looked down her nose at Brandon. If that wasn’t bad enough, she actually rolled her eyes when Paige told her they were on a budget and wanted to see the bargain rack.
She was so rude that Paige had half a mind to walk out and take their business elsewhere. But after a few minutes of Brandon’s teasing and flirting, he had the woman giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl. It was truly fascinating to watch. And though Paige wouldn’t have believed it possible, when he mentioned the tux was for a charitable event, she even offered to upgrade him to a more expensive brand for no extra cost. Then Brandon mentioned that Paige was an event planner and the woman must have seen potential future revenue. She became friendly to the point of being sticky sweet. Paige doubted she would ever return, though. Having a salesperson treat her clients rudely, even for five minutes, reflected badly on her company. It was a chance she couldn’t take.
“So, that was an interesting experience,” Brandon said when they were in the truck and on the way back to her office.
“I should apologize. I’ve never used that store before. And I never will again.”
“Why not?”
“After the way she treated us when we came in? It was totally unprofessional. And I don’t understand how you could be nice to her when she was so condescending.”
He shrugged. “I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was really busy. Or maybe she was just having a bad day and needed someone to cheer her up.”
“That’s still no excuse to be rude to people.”
He glanced over at her. “You can’t tell me you’ve never had a bad day. Never snapped at someone who maybe didn’t deserve it.”
“Never a client.”
“Well, you’re a better person than most.”
Or maybe she’d just learned to keep her emotions out of her business. And she considered it a shame that someone with Brandon’s impressive people skills would be stuck in a career as a ranch hand. He could do so much more with his life if only he were properly motivated. Now that his reading skills had improved, he could get his GED and go to college.
Not that it was any of her business what he did with his life, she reminded herself. As an image consultant, helping people make serious life changes was a part of her business, and she loved what she did. But as Brandon had clearly stated earlier, he was happy just the way he was. And technically, he wasn’t even her client. He only needed the skills to hold his own at the gala. Beyond that, she had no right sticking her nose into his life. It was just a shame to see all that potential go to waste.
She noticed that Brandon missed the turn back to her office.
“You should have turned there,” she told him, gesturing in the direction of the street they’d just passed. Maybe, being unfamiliar with the area, he’d forgotten which route to take.
“I know where I’m going,” he said.
“But that’s the way back to my office. This route will take you several miles out of your way.” And into one of the slightly less reputable parts of town. And she was on a tight schedule. It was already well after four, but she could probably sneak in a phone call or two before business hours were officially over, then do some internet research on a 60th anniversary party she was planning.
“Maybe I’m not taking you back to your office.”
Her heart gave a sudden start. What was that supposed to mean?
What if getting in the truck with him hadn’t been such a hot idea after all? What did she really know about him? He was attractive and charming, but so was Ted Bundy.
She glanced over at him. He leaned back casually, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other propped in the open window. Not at all like he was about to pounce or pull a gun on her.
Just in case, she slid a little closer to the door, ready to shove it open the second the truck came to a stop if necessary. “Where are you taking me?”
He glanced over at her and grinned. “Relax. I’m not kidnapping you. I just thought I would take you out for a drink. Consider it my way of showing you my appreciation.”
She let out a relieved breath and relaxed back in her seat. “That’s really not necessary. Hannah’s Hope will compensate me for my time.”
“Well, I’d like to do it, anyway.”
“I really need to get back to work.”
“It’s almost five on a Friday.”
Four twenty-seven to be precise. And the longer they drove in the wrong direction, the later she would be getting back. “I planned to work late.”
They stopped for a red light and he turned to her, looking puzzled. “Why?”
Because I have no life, was the first answer that popped into her head. Sad as that was. But that was not the reason. “I have obligations.”
“Which I’m sure can wait until tomorrow.” The light turned green and he accelerated. “Am I right?”
“Technically, yes, but—”
“So, wouldn’t you rather be doing something fun?”
“Work is fun.”
He raised a brow at her.
“You don’t enjoy work?” she asked.
“Not on a Friday night,” he said, giving her a sideways glance. “You look like a woman who knows how to navigate a dance floor.”
Actually, she was a terrible dancer. She was so uncoordinated, she couldn’t even manage simple aerobics. She was always two steps behind the rest of the group. “Well, I’m not. And I really need to get back to the office.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. Just like that. As if she had no say in the matter.
He pulled into the lot of Billie’s, a small, shabby-looking, country-and-western bar that she never would have ventured into on her own. Too many disturbing memories of pulling her mom, who was usually too intoxicated to walk unaided, out of a place just like it in the small Nevada town where she grew up.
And before she could insist that he turn the truck around and take her back to her office immediately, he was out the door and walking around to her side.
He pulled it open and held out a hand to help her down.
“I can’t do this,” she said.
“It’s just one small step down to the ground,” he said with a dimpled grin. “I promise I’ll catch you if you fall.”
The mischief in his eyes said he knew that wasn’t what she meant, and his teasing grin warmed her from the inside out. Did the man have to be so adorable?
“I have a strict policy of not socializing with clients.”
“That’s a good policy. But I’m not one of your clients.”
Damn it, he had her there. “But Hannah’s Hope is my client, and by extension, so are you.”
It was a flimsy excuse at best, and she could see that he wasn’t buying it. She expected some snappy comeback, but instead he sobered, his eyes earnest.
“The thing is, I don’t know a lot of people in town and it can get lonely sometimes.”
Wow. She hadn’t been expecting that. That kind of brutal honesty. He was making it really hard to tell him no.
“I’m sure there are any number of women in there who would be happy to have a drink with you.” Among other things.
“But I want to have a drink with you.”
She couldn’t deny hearing those words, seeing the earnestness in his eyes, was just a little thrilling. And strangely enough, she wanted to get to know him better. There was something about Brandon that fascinated her. And not just his good looks, although she couldn’t deny she was attracted to him.
How sad was the state of her personal life when a gorgeous, sexy man asked her out for a drink and she wanted to work instead? When had she become so obsessed with success that she couldn’t take a few hours off to have a little fun?
Or, she could look at it from a profession angle. Brandon had so much potential. Maybe if they got to know one another, she could encourage him to do something more with his life.
It was only a drink, right?
“One drink,” she said. “Then you’ll take me right back to the office.”
“I promise.” Wearing a grin that said he’d known all along he would get his way, he held out a hand to help her down. His hand was big, and a little work-roughened. A sturdy, capable hand. And as it closed around her own, she had the strangest feeling of … security. As if she instinctively knew that, while she was with Brandon, he would never let anything hurt her.
How ridiculous was that? She barely knew the man. Besides, she was more than capable of taking care of herself.
As soon as she was on stable ground she let go. But as she picked her way across the gravel lot in her three-inch heels, it occurred to her how inappropriately she was dressed. The older-model cars in the lot said this wasn’t the sort of establishment where business types hung out. In her suit, she was going to stick out like a sore thumb.
“You look nervous,” he said as they approached the door.
“I think I’m overdressed.”
“Trust me, no one will care.”
He reached for the door handle and a rush of memories washed over her. A hazy, smoke-filled room teeming with the sour stench of stale liquor and hopelessness. Country-and-western music blaring at a decibel so loud one could barely think, much less hold a conversation—not that anyone went there to talk. She imagined couples grinding against each other on the dance floor and embracing in dark corners, doing God only knows what.
As Brandon pulled open the door she actually cringed, half expecting to see her mother there, slumped at the end of the bar, hands around a tumbler of cheap whiskey. But what she saw inside wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Despite it’s rundown exterior, it was clean and well-kept. The music was at a respectable level, and the air smelled not of smoke and liquor but smoked meat and spicy barbecue sauce.
Several men sat at the bar watching some sporting event on an enormous flat-screen television, but most of the booths were empty.
“Over there,” he said, gesturing to the area beside the deserted dance floor. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he put a hand on the small of her back to lead her. Did he have to be so touchy-feely? It wasn’t professional.
And having a drink with him was?
She didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, lead him to believe she was interested in anything but a professional relationship. She was sure she’d made that clear.
She slid into the seat of the booth he chose and he sat across from her. A waitress appeared to take their orders. She was an older woman with a pleasant face, wearing an apron that boasted Billie’s ribs were the best in the west.
“Hey, Brandon,” she said with a flirtatious smile. “You want the usual?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She turned to Paige, giving her a quick once-over. The business suit clearly puzzled her. “And for your lady friend?”
Paige felt compelled to explain that she wasn’t a “lady friend,” just a business associate, although for the life of her she didn’t know why it mattered what a virtual stranger thought. “A glass of Chardonnay, please.”
“House okay?”
“Fine.”
“Comin’ right up,” she said.
When she was gone, Paige said, “If she knows your usual, I guess you spend a lot of time here.”
Brandon shrugged. “I’m in every couple of days. Like I said, it gets lonely.”
“Where is it that you work, exactly?”
“Copper Run Ranch just outside of Wild Ridge.”
“I’ve never heard of Wild Ridge.”
“It’s about two hours northeast of here, in the San Bernardino mountains. It used to be a mining town. Pretty as a picture.”
“So you commute four hours every time you have a meeting with your mentor?”
“We meet twice a week, Thursdays and Sundays at the library. I drive in Thursday afternoon and stay in a hotel, then drive back to the ranch after my lesson on Sunday morning.”
“And your boss is okay with you taking all those days off?”
“He’s a generous man.”
More generous than most. “How long have you worked for him?”
“Eight years.”
“Have you ever thought of doing anything … different?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Going back to school, maybe.”
“What for? I like what I do.”
But didn’t he want to better himself? He was obviously an intelligent man. He could be so much more than just a ranch hand.
The waitress returned with Paige’s wine and a beer for Brandon. “Do you need menus?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” Paige said.
“Are you sure?” Brandon asked. “Dinner is on me.”
This was supposed to be one drink. Not a meal. “I really can’t.”
“Holler if you change your mind,” the waitress said.
“Thanks, Billie,” Brandon said as she walked away.
“Billie?” Paige asked. “As in the Billie on the sign outside?”
“That’s right. She opened this place with her husband thirty years ago. They have two sons and three daughters. Their oldest son, Dave, is the cook and their youngest daughter, Christine, tends bar. Earl, her husband, passed away two years ago from a massive heart attack.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I talk to her.” He took a swallow of his beer and asked, “So, where are you from?”
“I grew up in Shoehill, Nevada.” She sipped her wine, surprised to find that it was quite good. Usually “house wine” meant inferior.
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a tiny, hole-in-the-wall town on the Arizona border. The kind of place where everyone has their nose in everyone else’s business.” And everyone knew her mother, the town lush.
“You still have family there?” Brandon asked.
“Distant relatives, but I haven’t seen them in years. I’m an only child and my parents are both dead.”
“I’m real sorry to hear that. Was it recent?”
“My dad died when I was seven, my mom when I was in college.”
“How did they die?”
He sure did ask a lot of questions, and she wasn’t used to revealing so much of her personal life to clients. Usually they were the ones doing all the revealing. But she didn’t want to be rude. “My dad was in an accident. He was a trucker. He fell asleep behind the wheel and ran his truck off the road into an overpass. They said he survived the crash, but he was knocked out by the impact. He was hauling a tank of combustible liquid and it ignited.”
“Jesus,” Brandon muttered, shaking his head.
“My mom took it pretty hard.” Her entire world had revolved around Paige’s father. And instead of accepting his death and moving on, she’d crawled into a bottle instead.
“What did she do for a living?” he asked.
“Whatever paid the bills.” Although thanks to her drinking, she never held a job for very long. They spent a lot of time on welfare.
“How did she die?”
“Liver cancer.” Exacerbated by years of binge drinking. Not even a cancer diagnosis had been enough to sober her up. She’d given up without even trying to fight. In fact, Paige suspected that it had been a relief. That her mother had slowly been killing herself. That she would have ended it sooner if only she’d had the courage. And in a way, Paige wished she would have. She couldn’t imagine ever being so weak that the loss of the man she loved could make her give up on life, and the welfare of her child.
She loved her mother, but Fiona Adams had been weak and fragile. All the things Paige swore she would never be.
“That must have been tough,” Brandon said.
“I hadn’t seen her in quite some time, and I was so busy with school I didn’t really have time to be upset. I was a junior at UCLA and working to maintain a 4.0 GPA.”
“Lofty goal.”
“I had to keep my GPA up to keep my scholarship.”
“Full ride?” he asked.
“Four years.”
He sipped his beer. “You must be pretty smart.”
He sounded impressed, like maybe he didn’t meet a lot of smart people. “The hard work paid off. I graduated with honors and landed a job with one of the most prestigious event planning firms in San Diego.”
“So how did you end up in Vista del Mar?”
“San Diego was pretty expensive for someone just starting out and my boss happened to own a rental place here. I liked the area so much that when I branched out on my own, I decided to base my business here, too.”
“What made you decide to start your own business?”
She sipped her wine and said, “You ask a lot of questions.”
He fished a nut from the bowl on the table and popped it in his mouth. “I’m curious by nature.”
He was adorable enough to get away with it, and he listened with the kind of earnest, rapt attention that said he really cared. He seemed genuinely interested in knowing more about her.
“I was responsible for bringing in some of the firm’s highest billing clients,” she said. “Yet I was only seeing a fraction of the profit.”
“So it was about money.”
“Partially. I also wanted to branch out into image consulting, as well. And the truth is, I prefer to be in control.” And it sure hadn’t been easy. The high-end clients she was landing in her old job preferred the prestige and reputation of a larger firm. In the two years since she’d started Premier Image and Planning, Hannah’s Hope was by far her largest, most prestigious account to date. The gala would draw in the organization’s wealthiest contributors, including politicians and Hollywood celebrities. If she pulled it off without a hitch, and word got around, it could be the big break she’d been hoping for. So in essence, this single event could shape the entire future of her company.
“Sounds like you’ve done well for yourself,” Brandon said.
“I’ve worked hard.”
“How long have you worked with Hannah’s Hope?”
“Since February.”
“You’re friends with Ana Rodriguez and Emma Worth?”
“No, I met Ana through a business contact. I coordinated a wedding for a friend of hers. She was impressed, and when she was looking for someone to plan the gala she remembered me. Emma I don’t know well at all.”
“How much do you know about Hannah’s Hope?”
“Other than what they do for the community, and the information I need for the gala, not much. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” he said, and gestured to Billie, who was taking an order a few booths down. Several more booths and tables had filled with customers since they sat down. “So, what do you do for fun?”
Hadn’t they already covered this? “I don’t really have time for fun.”
“What do you do on your days off?”
“I don’t take days off.”
His brow rose. “Are you telling me you work seven days a week?”
“Typically, yes.” She lifted her glass and realized she’d already sipped her way to the bottom. She hadn’t meant to drink it so fast.
“Everyone needs a day off now and then,” he said.
“It’s not as if I don’t ever take a day off. It’s just that my business is at a crucial stage right now. The Hannah’s Hope gala could make or break my career.”
That seemed to surprise him. “It’s that important?”
“Absolutely. With Ana’s fiancé, Ward Miller, involved, and his name behind the organization, there will be music executives and Hollywood people attending. That’s exactly the clientele I need to target in order to expand my company.”
“I didn’t realize it would be that big of a deal,” he said, looking like the idea made him a little nervous.
“Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. I’ll have you so well prepared, no one will ever guess you’ve never been in the public eye.”
Billie appeared and set two more drinks in front of them.
“Thanks, Billie,” Brandon said.
When had he ordered these? “You said one drink,” she reminded him, glancing at the time on her phone. She’d already been away from the office longer than she should have.
“You’re not enjoying my company?” he asked.
No, she was definitely enjoying it. For some reason, she felt comfortable talking to Brandon. Maybe because he really listened. She even liked the nervous, fidgety feeling she got when he studied her with those ocean-blue eyes. Even though it was wrong in more ways than she cared to consider. But a girl could fantasize, couldn’t she? She could imagine how it would feel to be close to him. Even if it could never happen.
She had a plan. Her life was mapped out and there just wasn’t a place for a man like Brandon. Although it sure would be fun to squeeze him in for a night or two. But everything inside of her was saying that would be a bad idea.
“I didn’t say that,” she said. “I just have a lot of work to do.”
“What would happen if you didn’t work tonight?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Would your business crumble? Would the world come to an end?”
Now he was being ridiculous. “Of course not.”
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his much larger one, fixing his gaze on her.
Oh, boy.
The look in his eyes, the warmth of his rough palm was doing funny things to her insides. To her head. How long had it been since a man’s touch made her feel this way?
Way too long.
“Don’t go back to work,” he said, his eyes so warm and earnest she melted on the spot. “Spend the rest of the evening with me.”
Three
Brandon knew he had her.
When he touched Paige’s hand he could see her resolve draining away. Although he wasn’t sure why he was so intent on getting her to hang around when it was clear that he wasn’t going to get any information out of her in regard to the inner workings of Hannah’s Hope. So why not cut her loose right now?
Because maybe what he’d told her about being lonely wasn’t an exaggeration. He hadn’t had a whole lot of female companionship lately. Hell, he hadn’t so much as looked at a woman since he caught Ashleigh with his now ex-foreman going at it in the stable two days before their wedding last winter.
But he liked Paige. She wasn’t what he’d expected when he first saw her, prim and proper behind her desk in her designer clothes. She was no trust-fund girl. It sounded as if she worked damned hard to be successful. And the fact that she would agree to go out for a drink with a man who was, as far as she knew, poor and uneducated, said a lot about her character. The fancy labels were for her clients, to give the appearance of professionalism, not because she was a snob. And he couldn’t deny that was a refreshing change from women like his ex who spent thousands on their wardrobe for no other reason than to impress their friends. Or simply because they had money to burn. In his fiancée’s case, his money.
Paige even reminded him of himself in a way. Isolated and obsessed with work. After the breakup he’d spent the majority of his time holed up at the ranch, seeing to the day-to-day operations. It was a rare occasion that he made it into town for any reason. Even a beer at the local brewery on a Friday night. He’d shut himself off from the world. And lately he’d been so obsessed with discrediting Rafe Cameron, he hadn’t thought of much else. Only now, after meeting Paige, did he feel the desire for companionship.
But he had to be very careful where and with whom he let himself be seen. He couldn’t risk being recognized and blowing his cover, not when he’d already invested more than four months in his plan. Especially if he planned to blow everything wide open at the gala—although at this point, there was nothing to blow open.
It seemed as if Paige was far enough removed from the people at Hannah’s Hope, and from the rest of the world in general, that there was no threat of exposure when he was with her. And no one was bound to recognize him in this bar. No one he knew as Brandon Worth would be caught dead in a place like this. Personally, he preferred it over the Vista del Mar Beach and Tennis Club where his father and men like him drank eighty-year-old scotch and compared portfolios. Although after fifteen years he doubted anyone would recognize him. Just like he preferred being at the ranch, in the mountains, instead of cooped up in an office. He hadn’t been built for the rat race. A trait he could only assume he’d inherited from his mother.
Paige sat across from him, gnawing the gloss from her full bottom lip, but she didn’t move her hand. Maybe she liked the way it felt wrapped in his. He did. In fact, if he had his way, they would be doing a lot more than just holding hands. Maybe it was finally time to end his self-imposed celibacy.
“I guess it wouldn’t kill me to take one night off,” she finally said. “But I do have to work in the morning so I can’t be out too late.”
“I’ll have you home before my truck turns into a pumpkin, I promise.”
“And just so we’re clear,” she said, easing her hand out from under his, “this is not a date. We can be friends, but nothing more.”
“Friends it is,” he said. The kind with benefits, maybe.
She relaxed back in her seat and took another sip of her wine. The bar was filling up. Soon people would be out on the dance floor, and at seven the band would start playing. And date or not, he had every intention of asking Paige to dance. A few more drinks and he was pretty sure he could persuade her into it. He could tell by her body language that the wine was already relaxing her.
She gazed up at him through the fringe of her lashes. Her eyes were quite extraordinary. Back in her office he could have sworn they were blue, but in this light they looked almost purple.
“You’re staring at me,” Paige said.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I’m trying to figure out what color your eyes are.”
“It depends on my mood. Sometimes they’re blue, sometimes they’re violet.”
“What mood are you in when they’re violet?”
“Happy. Relaxed.”
He wondered what color they were when she was aroused, and if he would be lucky enough to find out.
“We’ve talked about me ever since we sat down. Why don’t you tell me about you,” she said, then added, “And don’t say there isn’t much to tell. Everyone has a story.”
He couldn’t tell her his. Not the full version, anyway. But he knew the fewer lies he told, the fewer he had to remember, so it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible while still keeping up the charade.
“I’m originally from California,” he said. “Not too far from here, in fact. My father lives pretty close by.”
“Do you visit him?”
“Not in a long time. Suffice it to say we don’t see eye to eye. About a lot of things.”
“You said your mom died when you were young.”
“Accidental overdose,” he said. It had never been officially ruled a suicide, but only because she hadn’t left a note. Anyone who knew Denise Worth knew she’d been miserable enough to take her own life. No thanks to his father and his extramarital affairs. Though Brandon had only been fourteen, her death had been the last straw, the final wedge in a relationship that had always been volatile in the best of circumstances. After her death, he and his father barely spoke. His mother had always favored Brandon, and his sister, Emma, had been daddy’s little princess. And still was, as far as he knew.
“Do you have siblings?” Paige asked.
“A sister. But I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.” Not since the day he’d headed off to boarding school on the east coast. Although from what he’d heard, she’d married recently and was pregnant with her first child. He would be an uncle, but in title only. He doubted he would ever see the child.
“Fifteen years is a long time not to talk to a sister.”
“It’s complicated.”
“It must be, because it’s hard to imagine that someone as personable, as nice, as you, could hold a grudge for so long.”
He grinned. “You barely know me. Maybe I’m only pretending to be nice.”
She considered that for a second, then shook her head. “No.
You’re forgetting, I’m an image consultant. I’m pretty adept at reading people. The way you handled saleslady sunshine earlier, that’s impossible to fake. You’re good with people. A nice guy.”
Maybe too nice. Definitely too trusting. Ashleigh had taught him that, and it had been a bitter pill to swallow. But she was the last person he wanted to think about right now.
“So I guess you kinda like me,” he said, grinning. “Since I’m such a nice guy.”
“Maybe I don’t like nice guys,” she said draining her second glass. “Maybe I prefer men who are bad for me.”
The wine must have been going to her head. She was starting to get flirtatious.
He leaned forward, locking his eyes on hers. “I’ll have you know, I can be very bad.”
Maybe it was his imagination, but he could swear the color of her eyes deepened. And he had the feeling this was about to get interesting.
“Why is it that a beautiful woman like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?”
“Who says I don’t?”
“If you did, you wouldn’t have been planning to work on a Friday night. And you sure as hell wouldn’t be here with me.”
“I’m focusing on my career. I don’t have time for a relationship.”
Exactly the type of woman he needed right now. One who wouldn’t want or expect a commitment. Paige was becoming more appealing by the minute. Most women came after him all pistons firing, talons out.
This was a refreshing change of pace. A woman who didn’t have time for him. Of course, if she knew about the millions in his trust fund, she might make time.
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” she asked.
He grinned. “Who says I don’t?”
“If you did, you wouldn’t be here with me.”
Touché. “Until late last year I had a fiancée.”
The teasing expression slipped from her face. “It didn’t work out?”
“If ‘didn’t work out’ is a polite way of saying that she cheated on me with the ranch foreman.”
She winced and shook her head. “I don’t understand people who cheat on their significant others. If you aren’t happy with someone, why not just leave?”
Ashleigh had a couple million reasons to stick around. And according to her, she’d never been “happy” with him, or had any intention of being faithful. All she cared about was the money. Or so she had spat at him when he kicked her to the curb. But she’d sure had him snowed. She’d managed to convince him that he was the love of her life.
“Are you speaking from personal experience?” he asked.
“No, but my mom had boyfriends who couldn’t seem to keep it in their pants. Of course, being with someone like my mom couldn’t have been a picnic.”
“Why is that?”
She hesitated, then said, “My mom was an alcoholic. She started drinking the day my dad died, and didn’t stop until she drank herself to death.”
“That must have been rough.”
“She was weak and pathetic.”
And obviously Paige resented the hell out of her for it, and he was guessing she would do anything to not be like her. To be successful and self-sufficient. Not the type of woman who used a man for his money. Not that he was in the market for a relationship.
Maybe it was time he lightened the mood a little. He gestured to Billie for another round, and since there happened to be a slow song playing, he slid out of the booth and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “No. I don’t dance.”
“Everybody dances.”
“I’m serious, Brandon. I can’t dance. At all.”
“It’s not difficult.”
“For me it is. I’m the most uncoordinated person on the planet.”
“When was the last time you tried?”
“Senior prom. I stepped on Devon Cornwall’s feet so many times I ruined his rental shoes and he had to pay extra.”
He raised a brow. “No, he didn’t.”
“Seriously, he did. I’m that awful.”
“Well, you can step on my boots all you want. It won’t bother me.” He grabbed her hand and coaxed her out of the booth. But when he tried to pull her onto the floor, she resisted. “But no one else is dancing.”
“We’ll be trendsetters. In a couple of hours it’ll be packed.”
She darted a glance around as he led her out on to the deserted dance floor. “Everyone is watching. I’m going to make a complete fool of myself.”
“Relax,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She stood there stiffly, like she wasn’t sure what to do. He took her hands, placing one on his right hip and the other on his left shoulder, then he put both hands on her waist and tugged her closer. She sucked in a quiet breath as their bodies collided, and damn, she felt nice.
He started slow, just swaying gently to the music. In her heels her eyes were level with his chin, but she was petite. She had a narrow waist and delicate, finely boned hands. But there was a sturdiness about her, and enough weight behind her to make him wince when she stepped down on the toes of his left foot.
“Sorry!” she said, her cheeks flushing. “I warned you.”
The problem was, she was trying to lead. “Just relax and follow my steps.”
For the first three quarters of the song he looked at the top of her head while she watched their feet, and she was doing pretty well, but the second she looked up she stepped on him again.
“Sorry!”
“It’s okay. You’re getting the hang of it. I’ll have you line dancing in no time.”
“Line dancing?” Her eyes went wide and she stumbled over his boot. He hissed out a breath as her heel ground into his big toe. “Sorry!”
“Watch my feet,” he said and she lowered her eyes again. “And yes, line dancing.”
“I definitely can’t line dance.”
“Anyone can line dance. It just takes practice.”
“I’m seriously not that coordinated.”
“You don’t have to be. It’s just simple repetitive movements.”
She glanced up again and caught him in the opposite foot with her other heel. At this rate, she really would destroy his boots.
“Sorry!”
“I have an idea,” he said. “Give me your foot.”
She frowned. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I’ll give it back.”
She bent her leg up. He reached down and grabbed her shoe, slipped it off, and tossed it under their table.
“But—”
“Other side,” he said, waiting patiently for her to lift her foot, and maybe she sensed that he wouldn’t take no for an answer because she complied. He slid it off and tossed it with its mate.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
He pulled her back into his arms. “They were getting in the way.”
“I feel like so short without them.”
She was significantly smaller with them off. The top of her head barely reached his chin. “How tall are you, anyway?”
“Five-three if I stand really straight. I’ve always wanted to be taller.”
“Why? What’s wrong with being short?”
She rolled her eyes. “Only a tall person would ask that.”
“I’m only six-one.”
“Only. You’re ten inches taller than me!”
He grinned. “But have you noticed that since you took them off you’ve been dancing and you haven’t stumbled once?”
She blinked. “I haven’t?”
“I told you, you could do it.”
She looked so thrilled, it made him smile, and she must have been happy, too, because her eyes were bright violet. But then a faster song started, and he wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge just yet. One step at a time.
He led her back to the booth. Billie had left them fresh drinks and a set of menus.
“Think Billie is trying to tell us something?” he asked.
“I guess I am a little hungry,” she said, taking a swallow of her wine, then another. She was going to have to pace herself or he would be carrying her out to the truck.
She ordered a salad and he got his usual burger. As they waited for their food the dance floor began to fill up. He thought she might be nervous dancing around so many people, but when another slow song began she actually got up and dragged him out of the booth and onto the dance floor, in her stocking feet this time. When he pulled her close, she didn’t put up the least bit of resistance. This time she leaned in closer, and it didn’t escape him how perfectly her body seemed to fit tucked against his.
“I think I actually kind of like this,” she said, smiling up at him. She was getting better. She only stepped on his foot once through the entire song.
When their food arrived, they returned to their seats and before she sat she shrugged out of her suit jacket, folding it neatly and laying it on the seat beside her. Underneath she wore a pale pink, silk shell tank that was as soft and delicate-looking as her skin. Her bust was on the small side, but perfectly proportionate to her size. Unlike Ashleigh, whose surgically enhanced chest had always been a source of mixed feelings for him. He preferred things natural. And while Ashleigh’s implants looked good, there was nothing “natural” about them. They felt exactly like what they were, sacks of fluid stuffed in her chest. But it was one of those things, a minor glitch in the relationship that he’d been willing to overlook.
He couldn’t help wondering how Paige’s would feel. What was it they used to joke about in high school? More than a mouthful was a waste? Well, it looked to him as if Paige was just right.
She ordered a fourth glass of wine with her dinner and he could tell it was going to her head. But when he tried to get her to line dance she said she was too afraid of embarrassing herself. He pointed out that she would never learn if she didn’t at least try, but that argument got him nowhere. Besides, she seemed to like slow dancing, and he liked holding her close. After glass five, she chucked the last of her inhibitions and glued her body to his, rubbing against him in a way that was honest-to-goodness torture, and she was giving off enough heat to melt the polar caps.
Since breaking his engagement, Brandon had barely looked at another woman, and he sure as hell hadn’t been ready to sleep with one. Until now. He wanted Paige. But as far as she was concerned, he was an uneducated rancher with practically nothing to his name. The question was, did she want him enough to see past that?
This would be a test, to see the kind of woman Paige Adams really was.
Though Paige knew it was wrong, and there were a couple dozen really good reasons not to get involved with a man like Brandon, she wanted him. Maybe it was the wine, or the fact that she hadn’t been with a man in a very long time, but she couldn’t seem to get close enough. She typically went for the studious type, who tended not to be so blessed physically, but Brandon’s body felt so solid and strong. And he smelled so good. She even liked the feel of his beard against her forehead when she laid her head on his chest. She’d expected it to be wiry and sharp, but in reality it was soft.
“I guess you’ve got the hang of it now,” he said. His voice had a husky quality that hadn’t been there before, and when she smiled up at him, the look in his eyes said he wanted her, too.
“I’m glad you forced me to try.”
“Me, too.” He reached up and tucked a stray hair back from her face. It had begun to work itself loose from the chignon, which under normal circumstances would have had her running to the ladies room to fix it. Tonight she didn’t care.
“Do you always wear your hair up?” he asked.
“For work I do.”
“I’ll bet it looks sexy down.” He ran the fingers of both hands through her hair, pulling the pins loose so it spilled around her shoulders.
“I was right,” he said with a sizzling smile that sent her internal temperature skyrocketing. “You probably hear this all the time, but you’re a beautiful woman.”
No, she hadn’t heard it in a long time. If he kept saying things like that, kept looking at her that way, she was going to forget all the reasons this was wrong. Why they could only be friends. Which she suspected was exactly what he was hoping.
Their eyes locked, and though she knew she should look away, her gaze felt glued to his.
Was he going to kiss her? God knows she wanted him to.
He dipped his head slightly, and she lifted her chin to meet him halfway, but he only pressed his forehead to hers. Her disappointment, the desire to feel his lips on hers, to taste him, was almost too much to take.
The song ended and he took her hand, leading her back to the table. “It’s getting late. I should get you home.”
She looked up at the clock over the bar and was surprised to see it was almost midnight. Hours later than she typically stayed out. But she was having so much fun she hated to leave. Then again, if he took her home, maybe he would kiss her good-night. She knew she shouldn’t let him, that it would be leading him on. There was no future for them. But the idea of his lips on hers was making her weak in the knees.
She put on her shoes and jacket and they walked out to the parking lot. She felt so unsteady on the gravel, he had to slip an arm around her.
“My car is still at work,” she said.
“Yeah, but you’re in no condition to drive.”
“But how will I get to the office tomorrow?”
“I’ll come by in the morning and drive you over there so you can pick it up.”
Sounded like the perfect solution, because then she would have to see him again. Maybe that was the whole point. Maybe he wanted to see her again, too.
He helped her into the truck, then walked around and got inside. “Where to?”
She gave him the directions to her apartment complex. It struck her as very odd, as he drove her home, how comfortable she had come to feel with him. Considering they had known each other a grand total of nine hours. It usually took her time to warm to people, to let down her guard. To trust. She was a private person by nature, but she’d told Brandon things tonight that she’d only told her closest friends. People she had known for years. Even her secretary, who had been with her since she started her company, knew very little about Paige’s childhood. Maybe because she and Brandon had similar dysfunctional pasts she felt comfortable confiding in him.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Brandon said, glancing over at her. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. I feel good. In fact, I haven’t felt this good in a really long time. I had so much fun tonight.”
“So did I.”
When they got to her complex, he parked out front and walked around to open her door. As she got down, she wobbled on her heels and nearly lost her balance.
“Whoa!” He caught her under the arm, saving her from taking a header onto the concrete walk. “You all right?”
“I guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought,” she said, clinging to his arm, feeling his hard muscle underneath warm skin. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering how the rest of him felt. And what he would do if she tried to find out. After all the bumping and grinding they had done on the dance floor, at the very least she’d earned a kiss good-night.
They reached her door and he took her keys to unlock it, then he turned to her. “I had a real nice time tonight.”
“Me, too.” Now kiss me and put me out of my misery.
“Thanks for keeping me company.”
“You’re welcome.” Come on already. Just do it, she urged silently, and something in his eyes said he read her loud and clear. He stepped closer, and the world seemed to slip into slow motion.
His head dipped down and her chin lifted. Her eyes slipped closed, and she held her breath, waiting to feel his lips on hers. Would it be slow and sweet, or reckless and wild? Would his lips be as soft as they looked? And how would he taste?
She felt his breath across her mouth, caught the clean scent of his aftershave, then felt the brush of his lips … on her cheek?
Huh?
He lingered there for a few seconds, his breath warm, his lips soft. Then he started to back away, but having spent the last several hours in a perpetual state of sexual excitement, a simple kiss on the cheek was not going to cut it at this point. Shoving aside her last shred of good sense, Paige slid her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his.
Four
Paige sighed softly as Brandon’s lips brushed against hers, slow and sweet. Tender. His beard and mustache tickled her. She’d never kissed a man with facial hair, but she liked it. In fact, it was the best first kiss she’d ever had. By leaps and bounds. And it had barely started.
He cupped her face in one of his rough palms, tunneled it through her hair, tilting her head for just the right angle, and deepened the kiss. She moaned as his tongue rubbed against hers, and all she could think was more. It was so perfect, she didn’t ever want it to end.
His arms went around her, his big, capable hands easing her in closer against the hard planes of his body, and when she realized that he was aroused, she went hot all over. It took exactly two seconds to determine that a kiss wasn’t going to be enough. She wanted to touch him, to feel him all over. She wanted him in her bed. She wanted to feel the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress as he drove hard inside of her.
She wanted it so much she ached for it.
She tugged his T-shirt from the waist of his pants, sliding her hands up underneath, flattening them against his hard, lean stomach, and he groaned against her mouth. She hadn’t even seen his body, but already she knew it would be perfect. She started walking backward, tugging him inside with her, but he stopped abruptly at the threshold. He broke the kiss, taking her by the wrists.
“Paige, I can’t.”
What? Didn’t he want her? He sure kissed like he did.
“Don’t think it’s because I don’t want to,” he said. “I do, more than you could possibly imagine, but you’ve had a lot to drink. I feel like I would be taking advantage of you.”
Take advantage of me, please, she wanted to say. But he was right. She’d had a lot to drink. Way more than she ever did. Odds were good it was severely impairing her judgment.
Odds were good? Of course her judgment was impaired. She was inviting a client into her apartment with every intention of sleeping with him. A man who met not a single one of her dating requirements. Not that she’d had any intention of actually dating him. She just wanted sex.
Ugh! What was she doing?
“You’re right,” she said, backing up a step, out of his grasp, clutching the door frame for balance. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“If it’s any consolation, I was thinking the same thing.”
Somehow that only made her feel worse.
“Thank you for talking me into coming out with you tonight,” she said. “I had fun.”
“So did I.”
“I hope we can still be friends. Maybe we could do it again sometime.” Just without the kissing. And grinding. And the excessive amounts of alcohol.
“I’d like that.”
And if she stood out here much longer, if she didn’t get inside, she was bound to launch herself into his arms. And if that happened, she wouldn’t be accepting no for an answer.
Maybe he was thinking the same thing, because he said, “I should go.”
“Thanks for dinner, and the drinks and teaching me how to dance.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for keeping me company.”
He looked like he wanted to kiss her again. He even took a step toward her, but something in her eyes must have warned him exactly what would happen if he did, because he turned, headed down the walk, his footfalls heavy against the concrete. He disappeared around the corner, and she listened until his footsteps faded—just in case he changed his mind and came back. When he didn’t, when she heard the engine of his truck start, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
She’d almost made a huge mistake. Crossed a line she swore she would never cross. She’d dodged a bullet when Brandon put on the brakes, so why instead did it feel as though it had pierced her heart?
Holy hell.
Brandon sat in his truck, engine running, gripping the steering wheel, trying to calm his racing heart. What the hell had just happened back there? He knew Paige had spunk, and he knew that he was getting her hot and bothered on the dance floor, but he’d never expected her to throw herself at him that way. And when she’d kissed him … Jesus. He’d never connected with a woman like that before. Physically, emotionally—it was like a freaking religious experience. And putting on the brakes, telling her no, had been torture. In the sixty seconds it had taken him to walk back to his truck, he’d almost turned back at least a dozen times.
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