SLEEPING WITH THE BOSS Page 4

  "Get a two-bedroom suite. We can work in the living area."

  Eileen stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him. His brown eyes looked rich and dark and impossibly deep. Her insides twisted suddenly and she heard herself say, "I'm not going to sleep with you, you know."

  His eyes narrowed. "Don't recall asking you to."

  "Okay then." She blew out a breath and nodded sharply. "Just so we're clear."

  "Crystal."

  She left his office and closed the door behind her. Then she leaned back against it and stared blankly at the ceiling. "What happened?" she whispered aloud. "You just gave away your weekend. What were you thinking?" She'd practically begged him to let her go along. And worse yet, now she'd be sharing a suite with the very man she was trying to stay away from.

  "Yeah, you're doing great, Eileen," she told herself and headed for her desk. She had to make the reservation before leaving for the day. Sending the Rolodex into a wild spin, she muttered, "Just great."

  * * *

  The Hammond Inn was the perfect romantic getaway. An hour and a half away from Orange County by freeway, it was a world away in feeling. The town of Temecula had started life as a stagecoach stop and was now an interesting collection of old and new.

  Many of the original buildings were still standing in old town, but the new housing developments were springing up all over everywhere like a virus run amok. Still, there were ranches and elegant old homes studding the landscape and the Hammond Inn was a perfect example.

  A gracious Victorian, it had been perfectly restored to its former glory. Its wraparound porch was studded with hand-carved pillars painted a pristine white. The house itself was bright, sunshine-yellow with white trim and dark green shutters. The wide porch held clusters of white wicker furniture, inviting cozy conversations. Hanging plants hung from the overhanging roof, dotting the porch with thick green foliage. Late-blooming chrysanthemums burst into rainbows of color along the skirt of the house and lined the long walkway from the curved driveway. Maples and oaks, now boasting their brilliant fall colors, crouched around the house like protective soldiers decked out in their dress uniforms.

  A cold wind swept through the hills, rattled the leaves and bowed the flowers as Eileen and Rick walked up the path.

  "It's gorgeous," she said, turning around to get the whole picture. Trees dotted the rolling, winter-brown hills and though new housing developments were encroaching, they were still far enough away that the inn seemed secluded. Private.

  Eileen shot Rick a sidelong glance and told herself to get a grip. They weren't here for romance. The inn was simply a temporary headquarters. They were here to conduct meetings with a few of Rick's clients. They all lived locally and it was much easier for Rick and her to spend the weekend at the inn rather than driving the freeway to Riverside County every day.

  Although, she thought, turning back around to continue walking, if they had been here for romance, they couldn't have picked a better spot.

  "I like it," Rick said, oblivious, thank heaven, to her thoughts. "The owners aren't the kind to organize 'fun' for their guests. They leave me alone to conduct business."

  Eileen shot him a look and shook her head. "Get down, you funky party weasel."

  He stopped and gave her that look she was becoming all too accustomed to. It was the sort of stare you gave someone speaking a foreign language. Conveying the thought that maybe, if you listened hard enough, you'd understand. "Party weasel?"

  "Funky party weasel. That was sarcasm."

  "Thought it might be."

  Eileen waved one hand up and down in front of him. "But honestly, Rick. Look at you. You drag that gray world you work in everywhere you go."

  He touched one of his lapels. "This is a blue suit."

  "Whoa. Cuttin' loose."

  One dark eyebrow lifted. She was getting used to that, too.

  "I'm here on business," he reminded her.

  "You never heard of casual Friday?"

  "It's my company, we don't have casual Friday."

  "The fact that it's your company is the point. You could have casual Friday every day if you wanted to."

  "I don't."

  "Hence, the gray world," she said, walking again. "Life—conformity style."

  Rick caught up with her in a couple of long strides. He was really tall—he towered over her. She liked the difference in their heights. She liked that he looked serious, but his eyes sparkled. Wow. Was that a glint of humor she saw there?

  "You know, some people actually dress for success."

  She shrugged. "I figure, success means you can dress however you want to."

  "Ah, so I should be wearing jeans and a torn T-shirt."

  "Nobody said anything about torn."

  She took the five, freshly swept steps to the porch and stopped at the top. Turning around to face him, she had to look down, since he'd stopped at the bottom. "I don't remember you being such a stuffed shirt when you were a kid."

  "I," he pointed out as he climbed the steps to stand eye level with her, "grew up."

  She clutched her heart and grinned at him. "Cut to the bone."

  "You're impossible, aren't you?"

  "That's been said before."

  "Not hard to believe."

  For several moments they stood there looking at each other. Rick broke away while Eileen was still in a sexual trance. He bounded up the rest of the steps and crossed the wide porch.

  He reached out, opened the door and held it for her to pass through in front of him. His gaze dropped over her before lifting to meet hers again. "Besides, I don't see you in jeans."

  She smiled at him. "You will later."

  "Can't wait."

  Eileen stared up into his eyes and told herself to ignore the flash of heat that sizzled in those brown depths briefly before disappearing. She didn't need this complication.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  Their suite was bigger than the one he usually took when he stayed here. Of course, Rick thought, usually he didn't bring his secretary with him. Margo wouldn't have come along, preferring to be at home on the weekends with her husband. As for Eileen, he probably should never have pretended—to both of them—that he'd needed her on this trip.

  Just the drive on the freeway had been torturous. His hormones were doing the kind of back flips they hadn't done since he'd hit puberty and had his first fantasy about … what the hell was her name? He shook his head. Didn't matter. And it would probably be a good idea to keep the word fantasy out of his mind, too.

  God knows, he didn't need any encouragement.

  He watched Eileen walk around the big living room, inspecting the whole place, from the books lining the bookshelves, to the hearth, already set and ready for a romantic fire. An overstuffed sofa in a pale flowered fabric crouched in front of the fireplace and two matching wing chairs sat on either side of it. Gleaming wood tables held vases of fresh flowers and dozens of scented candles dotted nearly every surface of the room.

  "It's gorgeous."

  He nodded. She certainly was. That black skirt of hers had been driving him nuts since she'd arrived at the office. She'd left her car in the parking lot at the office so they could drive down together. And during that long hour and a half, his gaze had slipped to her bare legs often. Her dark red shirt was plain, businesslike, and yet still managed to give his heart a kick start. Her hair, though, tempted him sorely. The long, loose waves draping around her shoulders made him want to spear his fingers through it. He'd had to keep a tight grip on the steering wheel, just to defeat the urge to reach out and see if her hair felt as soft as it looked.

  "Shall I set up on that table?"

  "Hmm?" He gave himself a mental shake and stared at her. "What?"

  "The first meeting." She checked her silver wristwatch, then looked at him. "Your Mr. Harrington should be here in about twenty minutes."

  "Yeah." Edward Harrington. Client. Business. Good. Concentrate. "Sure
. Uh, set up his files there and I'll order room service for when he gets here."

  "I can take care of it."

  "Fine." Rick picked up his suitcase. "Which bedroom do you want?"

  "Doesn't matter," she said with a shrug. "Surprise me."

  Something jumped inside him, but he buried it fast. The kind of surprise he'd like to show her had nothing to do with the choice of a bedroom, but what to do inside it. "You take the one on the right. I'll take this one."

  He didn't wait for a response before escaping into the bedroom and shutting the door. Dropping his suitcase, he walked across the room to the tall bureau and stared at his reflection in the silvered mirror above it. Shoving both hands through his hair, he met his own gaze grimly. "Keep your mind on business, Hawkins. Anything else is just a world of trouble."

  * * *

  Lightning shimmered in the distance and thunder rolled across the sky to growl like a caged tiger in the living room of the suite. Eileen hugged herself and stepped through the French doors and out onto the narrow balcony. The wind slapped at her, lifting her hair and twisting it around her head in a wild tangle of curls. She reached up and scooped it back, then tipped her face into the wind, loving the feel of it rushing past her. The scent of coming rain surrounded her and she felt as if her skin was electrified by the building storm.

  In the blustery weather, no one else was outside and they had the only balcony on this side of the house. It was private, secluded.

  Behind her, lamplight glowed in a pale, golden haze over the table where Rick sat, still working over the last of Ed Harrington's file. She half turned to look at him and caught herself noticing how he ran his fingers through his hair. How his tie always crooked to the right when he was tired enough to loosen it. How his eyes shone in the lamplight. How his shoulders looked broader without the confines of his ever-present suit jacket.

  Her blood pumped simply looking at him and she turned around, grateful that he was still immersed in his work. Just as well, she told herself, curling her fingers around the wrought-iron railing. They'd done fine all day, working side by side. She'd listened to him advising Ed about investments and his portfolios and even though she hadn't understood a word of it, she'd had to admit to being impressed.

  But now that the work was finished for the day, her brain was free to think about other things. And not one of them had anything to do with his brain.

  Lightning flashed, illuminating the edges of the clouds overhead and tracing white-hot, jagged fingers across the sky. Thunder boomed, closer this time.

  "You're gonna get wet in a minute."

  Her pulse quickened as Rick stepped out onto the balcony beside her. "I love a storm," she said over the rumble of thunder. "We don't see many of them."

  "Good thing. Had to shut the computer off because of the lightning."

  Eileen smiled. "Poor worker bee. Had to stop."

  "There's always the battery."

  She nodded. "So why're you out here?"

  He shifted his gaze from her to the storm-tossed sky. "Like you said, we don't see many of 'em." He leaned forward and braced his hands on the railing. "You were good today."

  "Thanks." Nice compliment but she hadn't done all that much. Typing while they talked wasn't that tough.

  He sighed and looked out over the garden below and the hills beyond the inn. "Edward's never talked that much. He's been a client for two years and I've never heard him talk about his late wife." Turning his head, he looked at her. "But you had him reminiscing inside a half hour."

  "He thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread," she said, remembering how the older man had heaped praise on Rick. "He said you took his modest savings account and fixed it so that he doesn't have to worry—" she paused and smiled "—and that his grandkids will say great things about him because he left them so much money!"

  Rick grinned and shook his head. "His grandkids are nuts about him. He takes them fishing every weekend."

  "And he says that you've made lots of money for all of his friends," Eileen said, as if he hadn't spoken. "They buy him coffee every morning at the doughnut shop, just to thank him for referring you to them."

  "That's nice to hear." His gaze drifted over her lazily.

  "He says you're the smartest man he's ever met."

  "He exaggerates."

  "Maybe." But Eileen had to admit, she'd seen a whole new side of Rick today. Though to be fair, she'd been seeing him anew all week. The terrible boy he'd been was gone, and in his place was a thoughtful, intelligent man who was as careful with his clients' life savings as he would have been with his own grandmother's. Plus, he looked incredibly good when his tie was loose.

  Whoops. Where did that come from?

  "Ed's a sweetheart," she said quickly, jumping back to their conversation. "Sweet, sad and still lonely for the woman he loved most of his life."

  "He enjoyed talking about her today."

  She nodded. "All I did was listen. He was nice."

  "Yeah," Rick agreed, staring into her eyes with a steadiness that made her shaky. "You're pretty nice yourself."

  "Wow." She waved a hand at her face dramatically, as if to ease a nonexistent blush. "My little heart's fluttering."

  "Uh-huh." A wry grin touched one corner of his mouth. "Smells good out here," he said, and slid his hand on the railing until it brushed against hers.

  Her skin heated, warmth rushing through her bloodstream. "It's the rain in the wind."

  "Nope," he said, turning his head to look at her. "It's more like—" he leaned in closer to her, inhaled "—flowers."

  Her breath caught when she stared into his eyes.

  "It's you, Eileen." His gaze shifted, moving over her face, her throat, her breasts, and back up again.

  "Rick…" She hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected him to say anything about the tension simmering between them. And now that he had, she wasn't sure what to do about it.

  Her body, on the other hand, knew just what to do. Her heartbeat crashed in her ears, louder than the thunder booming out around them. Heat spiraled through her body, churning her insides, fogging her brain, liquefying her knees.

  He drew back and turned his head to stare out into the night and the blustering storm. "Forget it," he muttered. "Shouldn't have said anything. Just let it go."

  She should, Eileen told herself. If there was ever a moment to pay attention, to take an order, now was it. She should do just what he said and forget he'd ever opened this particular can of worms.

  But she wouldn't.

  Couldn't.

  "Don't want to let it go," she admitted, and her words were nearly swallowed by the next slam of thunder.

  He snapped her a look and slowly straightened, reaching for her, drawing her up close. "We should, though."

  "Right." She laid her hands on his forearms. "We don't even like each other."

  "Yeah. You're a flake."

  "And you're wound so tight, in a hundred years, you'll be a diamond."

  "So," he said, "we forget the whole thing."

  "That would be the reasonable thing to do," she said, and swept her hands up his arms to encircle his neck.

  "I want you more than my next breath," he said tightly. "Screw reason."

  His mouth came down on hers just as another, bigger, slash of lightning scraped jagged fingers across the sky. Brilliant light flashed before her closed eyelids and Eileen felt the sizzle in the air. As the following thunder boomed around them, it seemed to pale in comparison to the thudding of her own heart.

  Rick lifted his head and stared down at her, his breath rushing from his lungs. Behind them, the room was dark, plunged into blackness.

  "Power's out," he murmured.

  "Not from where I'm standing," she said, meeting his gaze, her blood quickening on the hunger she read there.

  A cold, strong wind whipped past them, wrapped itself around their bodies like a frigid embrace, then dissolved in their combined heat. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled and de
sire, fed by the raging storm, clawed at them. Air rushed in and out of Eileen's lungs and still, she felt light-headed, as if a fog were settling over her brain, making thought impossible. But who needed to think when your blood was racing and your stomach was spinning and all points south were tingling in anticipation?

  Rick must have felt the same because he took her mouth again. Hunger roared through her as he plundered her. His tongue parted her lips and swept into her warmth, tasting, exploring, plunging again and again into her depths. She welcomed him, her tongue meeting his in a tangled dance of need.

  She arched forward, pressing herself into him, and moving, rubbing her aching nipples against his chest and torturing herself with the action. Her knees went weak and she tightened her grip on his shoulders to keep herself upright. His hands moved over her body, up and down her spine. He dragged her shirt free of the waistband of her skirt and skimmed his hands beneath it. Her skin tingled, firing with his touch until she felt as if every square inch of her body were bursting into flame.

  He tore his mouth from hers and shifted lower, running his lips and tongue along her throat, tasting her pulse point at the base of her neck.

  Eileen groaned and tipped her head back, inviting more, silently asking for more. And he gave. His lips and tongue teased her. His teeth nibbled at her skin, sending ripples of awareness and greed dancing through her. She clung to him, digging her fingers into his shoulders and, even while her brain sizzled with sensation, she was alert enough to notice that beneath his starched white shirt, his muscles had muscles.

  "I can't get enough of the taste of you," he muttered, his breath dusting her skin as his words quickened her pulse.

  He dropped his hands to the waistband of her skirt again and Eileen hung on as she heard and felt the zipper slide down. As soon as the black fabric was parted, he shoved it down over her hips. She felt the fabric slip along her legs and pool at her feet. Quickly, eagerly, she stepped free of the skirt and kicked it aside.

  Cold, damp air caressed her bare skin, but she was too hot to care. Nothing mattered but the touch of his hands on her body. The feel of his mouth across her skin. And she needed more. Needed all of him. Now. She shifted her hold on him, her hands moving around to the front of his shirt. Quickly, deftly, her fingers undid the buttons on that white conservative business shirt and once she had the fabric parted, she scooped her hands across the white T-shirt beneath. Even through the warm cotton fabric, she felt the clearly defined muscles he hid so well.