No Denying You (3 page)

Since he had a few minutes left between calls, he
decided to get her blood pumping for the afternoon. Ignoring the phone, he yelled for her to come into his office. He knew she hated that. She never failed to mention it. When she walked into his office, he felt his physical response to her almost immediately. No matter how much he hated to admit it, his cock jumped to attention anytime she was near.

“You wanted to see me?”

Pointing to his lunch in the trash, he asked, “Did you just leave that sitting somewhere while you read
Cosmopolitan
or did you also drag the sandwich over the sidewalk on your way back to the office?” Settling back in his chair, he waited for the verbal tongue-lashing. Hell, yeah, he got off on it; there was no reason anymore to admit that he didn’t. He was momentarily speechless, then horrified when her bottom lip started to tremble and something that looked suspiciously like tears glistened on her thick lashes. Uncertain, he asked, “Emma?” When she turned and rushed from his office, he sat there a moment longer, stunned. What in the hell had just happened?

He hesitated before going to find her. Her desk was vacant and the door was ajar leading to the hallway. As he walked farther down the hall, he couldn’t believe that he was actually considering going into the ladies’ restroom. He had truly lost his mind. Even as he thought it, he was lightly knocking on the door. “Emma? Are you in there?”

Brant heard a muffled “Go away.”

He took a deep breath and wondered why it was so
hard for him to apologize to her. “Emma, I’m . . . sorry. I . . . didn’t mean to upset you.” When she didn’t answer, he felt compelled to add, “My lunch was good, and I was just kidding, really.” A woman a few doors down stuck her head out to see what was going on and then gave him a look of disgust. Okay, now everyone in the surrounding area knew he was an asshole.

Finally, Emma said, “I need a little time. I’ll be back at my desk soon.”

Brant was so grateful to hear her speaking that he said, “Take all the time you need, no rush at all, and, Emma . . . I really am sorry.” When she didn’t reply, he turned and walked back into his office, shaking his head in confusion.

When Emma had first started as his assistant, he had been desperate to replace her by the end of the first week. She had shattered his perfectly organized routine, and he was a disheveled wreck as a result. She messed up his papers, had some strange, color-coded filing system instead of an alphabetical one, booked him on the wrong flights, and almost killed him by putting dairy in his coffee. At times he couldn’t believe he was still alive or employed. Yet as much as he had wanted to throttle her, there was also something about her that he connected with. Even when his brother had teased him about getting rid of Emma, he had been determined not to. There was something about her that he enjoyed, no matter how much she constantly got on his nerves.

He had no idea what he had said today to upset her
so much. He had said far worse to her before and it had never seemed to faze her. Something else must have happened during lunch. Maybe a fight with a boyfriend? Wait. Did she even have one? He wasn’t sure why it bothered him to think of her with a man. It was probably just pity for the poor bastard. He might enjoy her antics at the office most of the time now, but he couldn’t imagine being romantically involved with such a pain in the ass. Fuck, this day just kept getting better and better.

Emma tried desperately to smother her laughter until she was certain that Brant had walked away.
I can’t believe that shit actually worked.
Who would have ever imagined that the asswipe could be brought to his knees by a few well-placed tears and a couple of sniffles—unbelievable! When Suzy had suggested the crying approach, she had been completely skeptical. She figured that every assistant Brant had ever had must have ended up in tears more often than not, and he probably got a big kick out of it. So she was in shock that he had completely dissolved after her first whimper. When he followed her to the bathroom, she had been floored. Luckily, some nice soul who apparently spent a great deal more time in the restroom than she did had left a copy of
Star
magazine. She settled back on the countertop and ignored the few people who knocked on the door trying to get in. She thought about updating her Facebook status, but decided that might be going overboard.

When thirty minutes had passed, she figured she had drawn it out long enough. Someone was getting really anxious to use the bathroom, and she was tired of hearing the handle jiggle. She threw some water on her face and rubbed her eyes a few times. Yep, she looked suitably wiped out. As she walked down the hall back to her office, she wondered how long she could pull this off. The chances of her not snapping Brant’s head off when he made another stupid remark were slim to none. She’d give it at best the rest of the day, maybe two if he was out of the office a lot.

When she walked back inside, she saw a Starbucks Frappuccino on her desk. She found herself circling it like a bomb-sniffing dog. Someone cleared his throat behind her, and she turned to find Brant standing there looking unusually nervous. “I . . . I got your favorite.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how he knew her favorite when he was never the one getting the coffee, but she managed to rein it in at the last second.
Look pathetic. Just imagine yourself married to the man.
“Thank you, it looks great. I’m sorry for running out like that.”
Oh hell, there is no way I can carry this off all day, no matter how amusing. I’m dying already.

Raising a hand to rub her temple, she added, “I think it’s just this headache I’ve had all day. Maybe I’m coming down with something.” A few moments later, Brant had gathered her purse and ushered her through the door, assuring her that things would be fine there until she felt better. It was amazing—she probably could even push this fake illness to a couple of days if
she wanted to because the guilt monkey was riding him heavily. If she had gone home sick any other time, he would have bitched and moaned like the world was coming to an end. Having an afternoon off with his blessing was a rare treat and one she intended to enjoy. She would go home, grab her bikini, and spend the rest of the day at the beach. Life was good. . . .

Brant slammed the door to his beach house and walked straight to the liquor cabinet. The afternoon had been chaos. When Emma had gone home sick, he had been grateful. He couldn’t handle the guilt of making her cry, so running the office alone for the afternoon had seemed like a small price to pay. Who would have thought that the phone would be ringing every five minutes? Then he couldn’t find the contract he needed from Emma’s wacky filing system. His damn computer had somehow eaten his e-mails and wouldn’t spit them back out, no matter how many buttons he pushed. He was completely wiped out. First, the bomb from Ava and then Emma crying.

He poured a generous measure of whiskey and walked out onto his deck to enjoy the view with his hard-earned drink. He had just taken the last sip when someone on the beach a few feet down caught his attention. His house was next to a public-access area, so there was never a shortage of beach lovers coming and going. He wasn’t sure what made her stand out from
any of the other dark-haired females in the area. Maybe the skimpy cut of the string bikini bottoms. When she finally turned fully toward him, he sucked in a deep breath. That little witch! He’d thought something about the woman on the beach looked familiar. She sure didn’t look weepy or sick now. He was off the deck and striding across the sand within moments.

When he reached Emma, she had her pert little bottom in the air while she bent over packing up her beach bag. He cleared his throat at the same time she noticed the shadow falling across the sand in front of her. She whirled, crouching into a defensive posture that impressed the hell out of him. The play of emotions across her face was downright amusing. “Well, well,” he drawled, “it certainly looks like you’re feeling better.”

Barely missing a beat, she smiled, saying, “I thought some sun would help.”

Nodding, Brant said, “Yeah, the sun usually works miracles for a headache; that is the first thing I would have done.”

“My headache was better after taking some Tylenol. I was still having the chills, though, so I thought the sun would warm me up.”

Brant had to give her credit for thinking fast on her feet, but he still moved in for the kill. He took a leisurely look down her barely covered body, smirking as he said, “Your case of the chills must be a lot better since you are wearing next to nothing. I know anytime I’m sick, I come straight to the beach practically naked and bake in the sun for hours. Ahhh, does a body good, right?”

She gave him a dirty look before flopping down on the towel in front of her. When she started rubbing her eyes like she was crying, he threw back his head and laughed. He might have been taken in again had it not been for that look she’d given him before turning on the waterworks.

She looked up at him, dropping all pretenses of sobbing, and deadpanned, “You’re a total asshole.”

If anything, that just made him laugh harder. He plopped down onto the sand beside her and nudged her shoulder. “That was some performance today. I admit, I fell for it hook, line and sinker.”

Emma snickered beside him. “That was pretty priceless. The great and powerful Brant Stone, in the hallway pleading with his lowly assistant to come out of the bathroom. You almost sounded human.”

“You stayed in there forever; what were you doing? Updating your Facebook status?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’d never give you airtime on my social media. I don’t want any of my friends to know who I work for . . . meaning you. My high school reunion is coming up and I don’t need that kind of embarrassment. If you must know, I read
Star
magazine from cover to cover and slept for the last ten minutes. I would have stayed longer but someone on that floor has a bladder the size of a pea. I guess it was asking too much that she go to another floor. There’s no way I would have been that persistent about trying to get into a bathroom someone had been in for half an hour.”

Beside her, Brant chuckled in agreement. “So do you
live around here? You must if you’re using the beach in this area.”

Emma ignored his question, instead asking, “What are you doing here? Why in the world would you be walking on the beach in your suit? That seems uptight even for you.”

Brant pointed to his house. “Unfortunately for you, I live over there. It looks like fate brought you to my stretch of beach.”

Emma snorted. “Fate, huh? I could think of a few words to describe it, but that isn’t one of them.” Then she seemed to notice that he looked completely wiped out. “Bad day at the office, Mr. Stone?”

His easy smile turned to a scowl. “You have no idea. It started off badly when my assistant played me and then went to hell in a handbasket when said assistant went home because she was . . . sick. Everyone in the world needed something immediately today, and I couldn’t find anything in her complicated filing system.”

“Good grief, Brant, what is so hard about organizing by colors? Didn’t you learn your primary colors in school? You surely went somewhere like Yale or Harvard for kindergarten, so you must be a fairly intelligent man. Think outside the box for once.”

“Think outside the box, huh? I’ve seen you struggling to find files as well. We both know you only do it to piss me off.”

Emma gave him her best innocent look. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She rolled over on
her stomach and shut her eyes. Brant knew she was just trying to ignore him but damn, did she have any idea what seeing those firm butt cheeks peeking out of her black swimsuit was doing to him? He hated like hell that she turned him on more during an argument at the office than most women did in bed.

He had to battle the urge to lean over and swat her sweet ass. It would almost be worth the slap he would suffer to see the stunned expression on her face. He dug his fingers into the sand before he could give in to the urge. If she wiggled just one more time, though, all bets were off.

She could only figure she had been born under an unlucky star. First, her mother had started the day off by urging her to get a boob job; Suzy had encouraged her to torture Brant by crying when he said something sarcastic, which had worked like a charm; and then, out of the entire Myrtle Beach area, she had picked the patch of sand in front of his house to play hooky. What were the odds of that happening? Now she was lying on the sand beside him in a bikini that she had outgrown years ago and trying her best to wish him away. The bastard even looked pretty freaking hot sitting next to her in his expensive suit and Italian loafers. She could barely admit it, but in some strange and totally wrong way, he turned her on. She would have to have been blind not to notice the size of his cock as it rested against the leg of his dress pants in the office. She had almost swallowed her tongue the first time she saw the
outline when he was leaning back in his chair. Once something like that had been brought to your attention, it was damn tough not to look again . . . and again.

The man looked like Christian Bale and had the body of Channing Tatum; how could she be expected to resist admiring a man like that? The fact that she made it through every day without going to the restroom to masturbate was something she was rather proud of. If he would just sit there and look good, they would get along great. But whenever he opened his mouth, things went bad in a hurry. She would deny it with her last breath, but there were days that he made her so hot, she wanted to put a strip of duct tape over his mouth and screw his brains out. One of the big things that had stopped her so far besides common sense was imagining that morning-after scene. He would probably roll over, give her that sarcastic smirk that he wore so well and start listing everything she needed to improve upon in bed. She would then completely lose it, finally kill the man, and hope that her years of watching
CSI
would pay off.

“I can practically hear the wheels in your mind spinning from here,” Brant said.

She groaned before saying, “Are you still here? Please go away; I’m on my own time now.”

“Awww, what’s wrong, cupcake? Are you still upset over your telephone call this morning?”

She flipped over on her side. “What are you talking about?”

Brant looked pointedly at her chest before giving her
that familiar smirk. “You know, the issue with your asset size.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, “isn’t this sexual harassment?”

Not looking the least bit alarmed, he said, “I think the amount of harassment that goes on between us is decidedly heavier on your end.”

“I’m not the one sitting here talking about your ‘size.’”

Grinning, Brant said, “Touché, Miss Davis.”

She knew it was childish, but she scooped up a handful of sand and dropped it all over the top of his expensive shoes. She knew that some of it had to be running down the inside of his shoe. She watched for his reaction and was surprised when he continued to smile at her, almost indulgently. What was wrong with him today? He was a lot more relaxed than usual, almost like nothing could get to him. Maybe he was high.

As she looked at his wavy, brown hair blowing in the breeze, she again had the feeling that she knew him from another place or time. Since the first moment they had met, she had been racking her brain trying to figure out where their paths could have possibly crossed before she started working for him at Danvers. So far, she hadn’t come up with anything. She was born and raised in Florida and, as far as she knew, he had always been a South Carolina guy. It drove her nuts when she felt like something was on the tip of her tongue and she couldn’t come up with it. He sure didn’t look like any of the guys she had dated. Fate hadn’t been that kind
to her in the romance department. It had to be that he reminded her of someone she had met in passing. She decided to ignore his reference to her breasts and instead swatted at him with her hands. “Shoo, go on back home, boy. I’m sure there are more people you need to torture somewhere. Call Declan or Ava. They have to talk to you since they’re family.”

“But you’re so much more fun. I was stuck at the office all afternoon in near hell. You owe me.”

“Oh brother, is this where you demand that I walk to your house and fix you dinner? Maybe make your bed and clean the house?”

Emma tried not to stare when he stretched, pulling his shirt tightly across his broad chest. He jumped smoothly to his feet and extended a hand to her. “It’s time for you to call it a day.”

“I wasn’t serious,” she snapped.

“Cool your jets, sweetheart. I’m not asking you to come home with me. I try to avoid verbal abuse in my home. It’s getting late, though, and you don’t need to be on the beach alone.”

Emma opened her mouth to argue before noticing how much the traffic had thinned out around her. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She didn’t usually linger on the beach alone at night. She ignored his hand and got to her feet much less gracefully than he had. She grabbed her cover-up and thought she must be imagining things when Brant’s eyes seemed to linger on her body. “How about another day off . . .”

Before she could finish her sentence, Brant said,
“Don’t even think about it. I’ll expect you in the office at the regular time in the morning. I think you owe me a cup of Starbucks, too. Make sure you leave the cream out, though.”

Refusing to dignify that comment with a reply, she turned and stomped away from him toward the car.
Asshole.
The traffic was light since rush hour was over, so she made it home in record time to her small apartment in Surfside Beach. It was much quieter than the other heavy tourist areas of Myrtle Beach. It was only a two-bedroom, two-bath unit, but since she seldom had overnight guests, it worked well for her. When her parents visited from Florida, they preferred one of the luxury hotels in the area.

She dropped her beach bag on the kitchen floor and went straight to the refrigerator. Why hadn’t she stopped for a sandwich on the way home? Being stuck on the beach with Brant had thrown her whole evening off. She grabbed the container of leftover spaghetti from the previous night and popped it in the microwave to heat while she showered off.

After her shower, Emma threw on a long T-shirt and panties and towel-dried her hair. As much as she loved the beach, it always felt good to get the sand off. She couldn’t stand having it on her furniture. Before settling down to eat her leftovers, she rummaged in her bookcase and found her senior yearbook. With her ten-year high school reunion coming up, she thought she would take a trip down memory lane while she ate.

As she flipped through the pages and saw pictures
of friends she hadn’t talked to in years, she turned the page and noticed a booklet nestled there. Flipping it over, she saw the caption S
TUDS OF
S
UMMER
. Emma started laughing, recognizing the college calendar that her friend Madison’s boyfriend, Paul, had been featured in. The fraternity that had the calendar printed had been raising money for a big graduation trip to Hawaii. Each month, a different fraternity brother was listed with some mindless list of his likes. She thumbed through the pages laughing as she passed Paul’s pose as Mr. September. When she got to the last page, she wasn’t sure what made her pause to study Mr. December. He was dark and sexy. His hair was rumpled in an “I’m too sexy to care” kind of way. He appeared completely nude, but a clever crossing of his legs covered the family jewels. He was lying on what looked like a black silk-covered bed with an arm thrown back propping up his head. He was giving the camera his best smoldering look. The caption read “Mr. December has been a very naughty boy. This bad boy would love to deck your halls with his boughs of holly . . .” Emma rolled her eyes at the poor attempt to defile Christmas. She took one last look and suddenly it hit her. No fucking way! It couldn’t be, could it? She finally knew why Brant had looked familiar to her from their first meeting. Her uptight, sarcastic, arrogant ass of a boss was freaking Mr. December!

Emma gripped her sides as she rolled with laughter. She hadn’t been this excited since Macy’s put the pair of platform pumps she’d been eyeing for months on
clearance. Man, that had been an awesome day, but this was better, way better. Oh, the things she would do to him with this information! Suddenly the thought of going back to work tomorrow didn’t bother her. She couldn’t wait to get in there and start baiting him. How many hints would she have to drop and how long would it take for him to connect the dots? She was going to deck his halls all right, and she didn’t need boughs of holly to do it.