Something More (10 page)

Brenda must have been waiting for the phone light to go out. She peeked around the door. “Are we human again?”

Carrie glared at her.

“Don’t give me that go-to-hell-look. Do you realize how you’ve been acting around here?”

Carrie had to relent. She’d acted like a bitch for the past week. “All right, Brenda. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I did. You just didn’t listen.” She came farther into the room. “Mr. Corridon has exceptional timing. I could have lost my job today.”

“You still can.” Carrie rose and walked around the desk. “Bren. Thanks.”

Her strained expression relaxed. “What are friends for?”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re fine.” Brenda waved her hand in a never-mind kind of gesture. “I think you better call Harrison, though.”

“Yes. I already thought of that. Get him up here.”

Brenda stood still. “Carrie, umm . . . I’ve never seen you like that.”

“Appalling isn’t it?” Carrie gave an exaggerated shiver. She’d spent her life focusing all of her energy on a career. She achieved her goal and managed to land a successful job making buckets of money. Men were simply a means of pleasure in her spare time with no serious relationships. Lately, she’d behaved like some teenage, moonstruck, sex-craved idiot with a hard case of
Matthew obsession
.

Carrie sauntered over to the window. She crossed her arms and rested her chin on a knuckle. “You’re right.”

“About what,” Brenda asked.

“I’ve been a beast.”

“Yes, you have.”

Carrie turned her head and looked at her assistant. “I wasn’t
that
bad.”

Brenda crossed her arms and stood like a warrior ready for battle. “Yes, you were.”

Turning back to the sky-high window, Carrie stared at the clouds.

“I think you’ve got it bad.”

Carrie glanced over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Your gentleman friend.” Brenda sat down in the chair in front of Carrie’s desk and crossed her legs. “You’ve got it bad for him.”

Carrie dropped her arms and straightened her spine. “I hardly know him.”

“Then get to know him. While you’re at it, get me a phone number.”

Carrie twisted around. “What?”

“So I can call him the next time you go nuts.”

Carrie held her hands up in surrender. “Okay. You win.”

Brenda’s body stiffened in the chair. “Huh?”

“I’m taking a vacation.”

“What?”

Carrie propped her hand on her hip, narrowed her eyes, and stared at the horror struck expression on her assistant’s face. “Put your eyeballs back into their sockets. I’m taking your advice, so we’ll need to clear my calendar.”

“I don’t believe it.” Brenda sat on the edge of her chair.

Carrie turned back to the files on her desk. “Nevertheless. I’ll be leaving.” Carrie gathered the files and shifted them in her arm.

“But, your work schedule . . .”

Carrie put the files down with a smack. “Do you want me out of here or not? We’ve got a lot to take care of before I go. I’m going home. Matthew’s not coming back, yet.”

“You did say
yet
?”

Carrie shuffled papers around on her desk without looking up. “Yet. Get your steno-pad. Depending on how fast you write, I’ll leave as soon as I clear my calendar.”

Brenda jumped up and scurried for the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. And for goodness sakes, don’t change your mind.”

Chapter 14

A blue-eyed enchantress occupied his every waking thought. Even in his dreams, Matthew had been painfully aware of her scent. His aroused body would wake to find his arms already reaching for a vision of his own making and a need to sooth the powerful hunger in his gut. His emotions raw, his frustration unappeased, he would groan aloud in sheer disappointment.

His private jet just left the Frankfurt airstrip. He’d put all of his energy into the merger so he could finish, exceeding his own deadline. The urgency he felt, would not ease. He had no idea he would miss Carrie so much. Looking through the window of the leer-jet, Matthew thought of his family.

Even though he’d lost his mother to cancer when he was ten, he remembered the bond between his parents. As he grew up, his dad kept her memory alive. Matthew saw their love and affection through his father’s eyes. After his mother’s death, his sisters drove his dad crazy, but they never lacked for love.

When his father died, Mary Lou came a courtin’ to ease his heartache. Matthew thought he could have the same love and closeness as his parents. So he willingly and eagerly fell under Mary Lou’s spell. Where would he be now if he’d not learned her true character in time?

Mary Lou gave him the comfort he needed. He knew she disapproved of him working alongside his employees. That should have been his first warning. But she’d pulled him through his grief, or he should say lust carried him through. She had a warm and more than willing body. Her arms filled the emptiness in his soul. Sex replaced the loss of losing his father.

He was a young idiot. Too full of lust to realize the part she played. Mary Lou hinted at marriage and he longed for a union like the one of his parents. But, in his mind, the first priority was to make sure his dad’s legacy did not fail. His father’s heritage had been left to him and he recognized his responsibility to his sisters. Running the company and the long hours he put into it would not have been a good way to start a marriage.

At that stage of his life, he rolled up his sleeves and went to work. Determination and hard labor paid off. He was gone a lot. Mary Lou hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d already begun showering her with expensive gifts. Looking back, he realized it might have been his way of relieving some of the guilt for his absence. But he’d loved the challenge and thrived on the energy, the power of success.

Before he knew it, two years had gone by. The company profits soared. Deciding the time was right, he set off to the jewelers, bought a brilliant diamond knowing she would not want something small, she did have to brag to her friends, after-all, and made arrangements for a private dinner. The setting had to be perfect for when he gave her the ring and told her she could set the date.

Seeing his friend enter the restaurant had been a stroke of luck, depending on which way one looked at it. Matthew remembered how he darted across the street anxious to confide his news. Once inside, he spent several moments scanning the room and that was when he heard her voice from the other side of the wall. He ducked around the corner so Mary Lou wouldn’t see him for he didn’t want to reveal his plans. The evening had to be perfect when he surprised her.

Looking back, he wondered what his life would be like if she’d seen him. If he would have made his presence known. If he’d not overheard the admission from her own lips on the very night he planned asking her to marry him. The night he overheard her tell her friends of her scheme in catching a wealthy man, and she’d set her sights on him. Knowing he would be the heir to his father’s company, she would be the wife of a wealthy man.

He’d been more pissed than hurt. Angry at himself for believing in a false love.

He hadn’t trusted a woman’s motives since. They either wanted his money or to crawl into his bed. Women thought him an easy target. He still believed in love. He knew it was possible. And he hoped it could still happen to him. After meeting Carrie, he wondered if he could have that type of bond with her. Carrie was different. Not to mention she’d made her own financial status in the world, which supported the fact she didn’t need his money. Of course, once she found out exactly how much he was worth . . .

It didn’t matter. He was more than attracted to her. During those minutes he spent with her, a spark of mystery and a sense of belonging hung over him like a sweet mist of whimsy. She’d made it obvious he appealed to her as well. Every move she made had been one of seduction. When he finally gave in to his craving, they’d set the sheets on fire.

He stretched his legs and adjusted his position in the soft leather. With the merger accomplished, he could give in to the temptress of his dreams. Maybe consider more than an affair.

Her assistant was a character. She said she threw Carrie out of her own office. When he tried to call Carrie at home, she didn’t answer and the answering machine didn’t pick up. She should be there.

He closed his eyes and relaxed his head against the cushion, and revisited their last encounter.
Mmmm
. Carrie had the reputation of a hard businesswoman, yet she’d been soft in his arms. Melding into his body, bending the way a flower bends with the wind, swaying the way a petal floats in the breeze. How had he resisted making love to her for so long and maintained his sanity.

Four weeks without seeing her face. He needed to touch her. Taste her. He imagined Carrie’s head lying on her pillow, a glorious blonde cloud spread around her. The fingers of both hands curled as his vision became almost real. Soft creamy breasts. He’d caress her breasts with his fingers and mouth. He tortured his body and mind with thoughts of sliding his hands between her thighs, opening her legs for his seeking fingers. His hand slowly moving up from her knee, gliding over smooth skin, closer and closer to her warm honey, seeking entrance to exulting delights. Her mewling sounds of pleasure while he had her beneath him, thrusting . . .

“We’ll be landing in five minutes, Mr. Corridon.” The sound of his pilot’s voice jerked him back from lustful thoughts.

The sweat on his brow and the pounding of his heart made him realize if he didn’t get his hands on Carrie soon, he’d lose his mind. Reaching for a cool drink, he downed it in several gulps. The picture of her in his mind, with passion swollen-lips and contentment on her face, continued to plague his thoughts. He’d call her again when they landed. He wanted Carrie Stratton. And Matthew always got what he wanted.

The kitchen was a wreck. Plastic covered the floor and counter top. Carrie curled her bottom lip and blew at the strand of hair hanging in her eyes. Good thing she’d gotten up early this morning. She’d been at it for hours and hadn’t even completed one wall. She managed other people’s money without a qualm, but this was way out of her league. For Pete’s sake. Where did she get the idea she could paint her own kitchen? That’s why people hired professionals.

She had to do something. Brenda had made it clear Carrie needed to stay away from work with Matthew out of town. Brenda may have the title of assistant, but she managed that office with expertise and gave orders knowing her boss had her back.

So Carrie tackled the kitchen.

Splotches covered the sink. She’d spent more time trying to wipe off the paint where it wasn’t supposed to be. “Oh, brother.” She grabbed the rag and rubbed furiously at the yellow streak on the window above the frame. That only made it worse.

The doorbell chimed. “Now what? I don’t think this qualifies as ‘saved by the bell’.” She laid the cloth and paintbrush in the tray on the floor. Pushing a strand of hair out of her face, she curled it behind her ear feeling a blob of paint there, too. Stepping over the mess, she realized she should pull off her shoes before going into the living room. All she needed was paint on her carpet.

Carrie threw open the door, and froze.

Matthew.

God, he looks good.

Impeccably dressed, as always. She couldn’t see his eyes for those dark sunglasses, but their blue gaze had already been imprinted on her mind. A tailored suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his muscular build sculpted his white shirt, and his powerful stance took her breath away. Black waves gleamed in the sunlight with a stray curl fallen across his brow. Her fingers tingled contemplating the silky softness. How she’d missed him. She wanted to jump into his arms and howl her joy.

Instead, she crossed her arms and leaned her weight on one hip.

Matthew removed his glasses while his lips puckered to form a whistle. She swallowed and found her mouth dry. His eyes scorched her skin as his gaze moved down her body. The pupils darkened as his look lingered where her T-shirt pulled tight across her breasts. Slowly his gaze traveled down her legs, and just as slowly returned to her face.

She started to sway toward him when the full reality hit her.

Weeks.

It had been weeks.

How in the hell could she be mad at him when heat flushed her innards and pooled in her belly? Of all the damn times he could be here, why now? And with her looking like this.
Oh shit
. Her hands flew to her face and the tangled matt in her hair. Carrie never blushed. But her temper flared and her face flamed to be caught like this by him.

Matthew chuckled. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

If she were a teakettle, steam would be rising from her ears. “What are you doing here?”

“Not the welcome I was hoping for. May I come in?”

Carrie couldn’t believe this. Her professional tact wouldn’t help her now. Not when she looked like something the cat had dragged in the back door.

Yielding, she took a step back and motioned with one hand for him to enter. “Please come in. Uh . . . excuse the mess. I’m painting.”

Matthew looked around the room. His raised brows reminded her of Spock from the Star Trek movie.

“The kitchen.” Carrie pointed in that direction and watched Matthew saunter across the floor. Her mouth watered as she stared at his backside.
What the hell is he doing here? He said he’d be another week.

Matthew came to a sudden stop at the doorway. “There’s more paint on the floor than on the walls.”

“I should have hired a contractor.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You look to me like you’re doing all right on your own.”

Carrie gave him a squinted glare. “Smooth. Now I know why people steer clear of you in a board room.”

He laughed. A deep rich hum that sent vibrations across her neck and down her spine. Not five minutes and she was capitulating.

“Would you like some help?” His designer shades dangled from his fingers.

She gaped. “You?”

His tailor would die of horror if he knew that suit was anywhere near the mess I’ve created.

“Of course, me. I have been known to swing a paint brush or two.”

Speak of swinging–her gaze was immediately drawn to his backside. Damn, she loved looking at this man. And he had just offered to help.

“Are you serious?”

He took a step closer. “Yes, Carrie. I am serious.”

Her knees threatened to completely give away. She got the feeling he meant more than just helping her paint. Lost in his hypnotic blue eyes, the breath caught in her throat. After a long, penetrating moment, he stepped around her.

Did they just have some sort of telepathic communication?

“I’ll be right back.”

She blinked. He walked out of the kitchen and out the front door. Before she could sort out her thoughts, he came back in with a suitcase.

“Where can I change?”

Her thoughts scrambled. “What are you doing?”

“I never go anywhere without a pair of jeans.”

Matthew in blue jeans? It boggled the mind. Lifting a finger, she pointed to the guest bedroom.

When he came back out, Carrie got her first glimpse of Matthew in casual attire. The man was lethal. She had to concentrate to force her lungs to breathe. How could she suck air in when his image knocked the breath from her body? There should be a law against a man looking that good. And the law should state that he be exclusively hers.

Exclusively?

Where did that come from?

Ridiculous thoughts had besieged her mind, one after another, since the day he’d shoved her into that cab. Maybe she hit her head.

But she hadn’t lost her mind. Matthew was drop dead gorgeous! A mouthwatering, lust craving, body aching, sexy hunk of man. Heat pooled in her feminine core, forcing a dizzy rush over every pore of her skin.

He smiled. She thought she would cream in her panties. She never lost control. But then, no man had ever affected her like this. He poured paint in the pan and moved the roller back and forth. Her eyes followed the bulging muscles moving under his faded T-shirt. When he bent over and picked up the paint bucket, she clamped her mouth shut and tried not to swallow her tongue.

Delicious.

Her eyes devoured his body. They stayed glued on him as he moved about the kitchen.

His muscles bunched and rippled across his back as he raised his arms and used smooth strokes—back and forth—applying paint to the walls. Being on the ladder brought a certain part of his body at her eye level.
Mmm, mmm.
She kept her gaze trained on his tight buns. She could have sworn they flexed as he dipped the brush in the thick goo. Then he slowly swiped it on the side of the bucket and . . .
oooh
.

She needed to get a
grip
. And not grip his ass, either.