Tempting the Billionaire (7 page)

T
wo hours later, Crickitt stifled a yawn and nearly poked herself in the eye with her pencil.

“I’ve kept you too late,” Shane said from his desk. Crickitt was stretched out on the leather couch on the other side of the room, sketches and pages of handwritten notes scattered at her feet.

“No, I’m fine.” The image on the page blurred in front of her. “Well, maybe I am a little tired.”

“Yeah, so am I.”

For once Shane looked tired; no less attractive, but tired. His hair was disheveled from pushing his hands through it one too many times, and his five o’clock shadow had struck twelve. Which made her worry what she must look like. She doubted
haggard
looked as good on her.

He’d abandoned his starched button-down shirt in favor of the white V-necked tee underneath. He rolled a shoulder, and the rumpled cotton sculpted to his pectorals. She couldn’t keep from staring. Until now, she hadn’t had to contend with the distracting view. He’d been perched behind his computer screen for most of the evening.

He stretched his arms overhead, revealing his tanned abdomen. Seeing that flash of skin made her want to yank his shirt over his head and explore the rest of his amazingly contoured torso with eager hands.

She dragged her eyes, kicking and screaming, from the flat planes of his stomach, reciting a lecture about how she needed to stop objectifying the stacked, ripped, delicious man across the room. She refocused on the sketchbook in her lap, a far less satisfying view.

“I’m relieving you of your duties,” Shane said, approaching the sofa. “Before I get accused of being a slave driver.”

Aware she was sprawled on his couch like she owned it, Crickitt moved a pile of sketches to a nearby chair and put her feet on the floor. Shane sat at the other end with a huff, the warmth from his body drifting across the cushion, his nearness causing her heart to pound.

He dropped his head onto the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. “Are we going to be able to come up with anything he’ll like?”

She didn’t reply right away. She was too busy watching the low groan work its way from his throat to his lips.

Snap out of it.

She wasn’t being paid to check him out after hours. They had a job to do and had very little time to do it. Shoving away teenage tendencies, she finally managed to speak. “Of course we will.”

He opened one eye. “Don’t patronize me.”

Crickitt smiled. He could be funny with a straight face. She
really
liked that about him.

Focus!

She cleared her dry throat and clutched the notebook against her chest. “Actually, I may have something,” she said, rerouting her attention to the task at hand. She lowered the notebook and examined her drawings. For the last half an hour she’d been working on a new concept while Shane pecked away on his keyboard. And, if her worn-out synapses weren’t misfiring, she thought her idea had potential.

Shane sat up and scrubbed his face with both hands. He moved closer, his shoulder and hip brushing against hers. “All right, let’s see it.”

She showed him.

He muttered her name, the deep timbre of his voice gliding along her ribs like a mallet on a xylophone. “This is really good.”

“Really?” she asked, lifting her chin.

He looked up at the same time, bringing their noses inches apart.

She froze like a butterfly on a board, pinned into place by his golden gaze. Shane’s eyes dropped to her mouth for the briefest second before he emitted a low grunt of approval, and she could swear he leaned in just the slightest bit closer. And then it was as if every cell in her body moved in conjunction with his. Like a magnet being pulled to metal, she breached the distance between them and touched her lips to his. His mouth was firm, warm, and tasted every bit as good as it looked. The low moan rumbling between them came from her this time. Her eyes flew open.

What had she done—or, more accurately, since her lips were still fused with his—
what was she doing
? She pulled back, their lips making a smooching sound as she did.

Crickitt stood, the notebook on her lap clattering to the floor. “Oh, my gosh.” A smudge of lip gloss decorated his bottom lip. “Oh, my gosh,” she repeated.

She bolted from the room, and somewhere beyond the sloshing heartbeat in her eardrums, registered Shane calling her name.

Shane stood in the middle of his office, hands on his hips, and stared down at the sketchbook at his feet.

“Oh, my
gosh
,” he repeated, chuckling. He wiped his lips, noticing faint sparkles from her lip gloss on his fingertips.
Man.
He wished he would have been ready, he’d have loved to taste those lips a while longer. His entire body hummed like a transformer about to blow, and from what? A chaste, closed-mouth kiss.

A zillion shouts of encouragement came from the direction of his dormant hormones. It’d been a long time since he’d been kissed, even longer since a woman initiated it. He stepped to the doorway and poked his head out. A slice of light shone under the bathroom door and bisected the hallway.

Obviously, she regretted doing it. And wasn’t that a shame? Hadn’t she said earlier that rules were made to be broken? He was beginning to agree.

He’d been too aware of propriety and his position as her employer to lean in any closer. Remembering the feel of those plush lips set of a string of thoughts like firecrackers…and a warning siren he couldn’t ignore. As amazing as it was to feel her warm and willing against him, he was pretty sure it shouldn’t happen again.

“Damn.”

Given the fact she was hiding in his bathroom, she must feel the same way. With no idea what he’d say when he got there, he stalked toward the door. As it turned out, a conversation started without him.

“Maybe it’s hormones,” he heard her say, which almost made him laugh out of solidarity. “Or maybe I’m lonely.” Her voice grew farther away, then closer, like she was pacing the floor.

“Or desperate,” she continued.

Well, that wasn’t very flattering.

“It was bound to happen,” she said. “Could have been anyone. Given the chance, I may have kissed Townsend.”

Shane cringed. “I certainly hope not,” he said through the door.

Silence. Then, “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

He smiled at the floor and leaned a palm on the door frame. Could she be more adorable? “Open the door, Crickitt. You can’t hide in there until morning.”

“Actually, I could,” her muffled voice pronounced. “It’s plenty big, and I can make a bed out of these fluffy towels.”

“Crickitt,” he scolded. She really was regretting it, wasn’t she? Well, he wouldn’t let her. She had nothing to be embarrassed about. He’d been right there, too, letting it happen. “What if I promise not to bring it up?”

More silence was followed by the snick of the lock disengaging. Crickitt peeked out of a narrow gap in the door, her wide, doelike eyes brimming with innocence. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Careful not to touch him, she slipped into the hallway, making him feel as if he’d been the one to take advantage of her instead of the other way around. Not that he felt at a disadvantage, he thought as he swaggered toward his office. When he got there he found her hastily shoving papers into her canvas bag.

“Just so you know”—he straightened a stack of drawings and offered it to her—“I wanted to kiss you, too.”

“You promised!” She pointed the papers at him accusingly.

“I know.” She turned and he caught her elbow. “How about we deal with it now and we won’t be uncomfortable later?”

She looked at him like he’d offered her a liver and Limburger cheese sandwich.

Finally, she said, “Okay.”

He gestured to the sofa and she sat. He kept his distance, sitting on the opposite arm. The situation would only get messier if they didn’t just say the truth. Here went nothing.

“I find you more attractive than I should given my…position,” he said reluctantly. She squirmed. “But I promise it won’t interfere at work.” He dipped his chin. “Your turn.”

“My turn to what?” she asked, eyes wide.

He blew out a soft laugh. She was entirely too appealing when her cheeks pinked with embarrassment. “Your turn to be honest. Come on, hit me. I can handle it.”

She clenched the strap of her bag, and for a second he wondered if she’d taken him literally and was about to brain him with it. Then a sober look crossed her face.

“I think you have the nicest lips I’ve ever seen,” she said. “And felt.”

He gulped. Her blush deepened. He struggled to keep his expression neutral as his hormones lined up to do the conga.

“But I can control my impulses,” she finished.

He tried to speak but couldn’t. His tongue was Gorilla-Glued to the roof of his mouth. He repressed the sudden urge to dump the water bottle on his desk over his head.
You have the nicest lips I’ve ever felt.
And here he was, getting her to agree never to do it again.

Moron, party of one.

“See?” His voice cracked on the word and he cleared his throat. “Now we can put it behind us.”

C
rickitt made it through the next several days without locking lips with her boss. By then, she had labeled The Kiss as circumstantial, ebbing from sleep deprivation and/or proximity. Shane was a distraction, a
preoccupation
she hadn’t counted on, and becoming increasingly hard to resist.

They opted not to work in his home office over the weekend. The August Industries building was much more convenient…and far less distracting. Since then, he’d seemed remarkably unaffected. Which was a little disconcerting. Did rogue kisses from new employees happen often? Was it outlined in the employee handbook?

Shane breezed into her office, wavy hair styled against his head, his face cleanly shaven. Cool, crisp cologne wafted around her, and Crickitt pressed her knees together under the desk.

“I’m late,” he announced, sliding one sleeve aside to look at his watch.

“No, you’re not. Your meeting with Ms. LaRouche is at ten.”

He lifted his eyebrows in challenge. “She called late last night and bumped it to eight thirty.”

“Oh.” Crickitt yanked her eyes from his face to check the clock on her computer screen. “You’re right. You’re late.”

“Tell me you know enough to give me a five-minute breakdown?”

She did. Last night after work, she read all about Lori LaRouche’s line of mineral makeup and skin care products. Crickitt gestured for Shane to sit. He did, but only after another nervous glance at his watch.

“LaRouche Skin Care is a complete line featuring everything from alpha hydroxyl cleansers to easy-to-remove mascara.” Crickitt paused in her reading to look up.

His brow furrowed.

“Do you need me to come with you?” she asked, the offer more appealing now that she’d said it aloud. “Being a woman, I’m quite familiar with products like toner, glycolic gel, and day-to-night moisturizer.” And, being a woman, she was also quite familiar with the way Shane attracted members of the opposite sex like static cling.

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I can handle it. Makeup or motor oil, business is business. But I will take your notes,” he said, standing.

His cell phone rang and he extracted it from a pocket. After a clipped “August,” he eased into a smile. “We were just talking about you,” he said, charm bubbling over like a brimming glass of champagne.

Crickitt twisted her lips.
Lori LaRouche.
Shane’s tone had changed from all business to cotton-candy sweet. He offered a warm laugh, one she’d prefer he didn’t share with clients, and explained he was running “a tad behind.”

A tad.
Really?

Her reflection on the screen of her idle computer frowned back at her. She wiggled the mouse to wake it up. Anyone who didn’t know her might think she was jealous. And she was
not
the jealous type, especially over a man she wasn’t even seeing. Heat speared the center of her chest as she reconsidered. Maybe she didn’t used to be the territorial type, but something about Shane talking to another woman had definitely raised her hackles.

What if he was flirting with Lori? It wasn’t any business of hers. They’d agreed on Friday they would be professional, despite a shared attraction. Scowling at the back of his head while he talked to another woman was definitely
not
professional.

Crickitt tried to focus on something else, but honestly, wasn’t his voice “a tad” too sensual to be discussing directions?

Giving up, she slouched in her chair in time to see Shane move his jacket aside to stuff a hand in his pant pocket, the movement revealing one well-formed butt cheek. Was admiring her boss’s derriere considered inappropriate if he didn’t know about it?

She perused the intricate stitching of the material hugging his perfect butt, too wrapped up to notice he’d hung up the phone. He turned so suddenly she didn’t have a chance to avert her eyes. She was staring directly at the fly of his pants.

She redirected her gaze to the design of his tie, staring at it for a good long while before daring to look up at his face.

“I’m…going to go,” he said, capping his statement with a hoisted brow.

She peeled her lips back into what she hoped resembled a smile and not a mortified grimace. “Okay, I’ll just”—
stop ogling your crotch—
“finish up…”—she gestured at the screen—“…here.” Fingers on the keyboard, she began pecking Lord-knew-what onto the screen while he made his way to the door.

After he left, she buried her head in her forearms. Or she would have if the file Shane needed wasn’t right under her nose. “Crap.”

Snatching the folder, she ran across the waiting room, catching up to him as he pressed the call button for the elevator.

“Shane!” She held up the folder.

“Ah,” he said, reaching for it. His fingers brushed hers and he held her gaze a second longer than necessary. Or maybe she was the one who couldn’t look away. She let go of the folder as the elevator dinged, its doors sliding open. “Thanks.”

Crickitt waved a hand as he disappeared behind the door, then slapped it to her forehead.

“Tempting, isn’t he?”

She flicked a look over at Keena, who was grinning and waggling a pen between her manicured fingers.

“Excuse me?” She’d forgotten she wasn’t in a bubble. And if Keena had noticed her eating Shane up with her eyes, he probably had as well.

“Shane August,” Keena said in that mystery accent of hers. Czechoslovakian? Welsh? “He’s
tempting
.”

Crickitt offered a tight nod. She really didn’t want to know if Keena spoke from personal experience.

Back in her office, she returned to her e-mail. After ten minutes of channeled focus that could have caused a nosebleed, she leaned back in her chair. A single thought continued to gnaw at her.

Did Shane make it a habit of romancing his co-workers?

Had Keena once been the shy new girl? Had Shane urged her out of her shell and into his bedroom? According to Sadie, some men could plant ideas in a woman’s head without her knowing it. Like a kind of masculine superpower. Maybe kissing Shane wasn’t even her idea. How convenient that they’d ended up at his house on Friday. How did she know those files weren’t tucked in his briefcase the entire time?

She shook off the budding conspiracy theory. If Shane wanted to seduce her, he wouldn’t have insisted Thomas take her home. He wouldn’t have suggested the no-kissing policy.

Come to think of it, that last bit bothered her.

Maybe he doesn’t want you to kiss him. Ever think of that?

She had. As well as she remembered the feel of his lips, she couldn’t recall a second when he’d kissed her back. He just sat there while his personal assistant made out with him. Then he asked her to promise not to do it again, as if she were the loony new hire bent on seducing him.

No, that wasn’t exactly true. He wasn’t appalled by her. He even admitted being attracted to her. She pulled her shoulders back. And why not? She was attractive. Maybe not va-va-voom-Sadie attractive, but she wasn’t exactly a can of Spam, either.

So if she liked him, and he liked her, why the boundaries?

The digital purr of her office phone answered her question. Because office romances rarely worked out. That was why companies had no-dating policies.

And sexual harassment laws.

“Crickitt Day,” she answered.

“A few of us are going to Kung Chow’s. Would you like to go?” Keena asked.

“Um, no, thanks, I brought my lunch today.” She didn’t need fried rice. What she needed was a slap upside the head, a reminder of what was important. She said good-bye to Keena but instead of returning the handset, she punched a button for an open line and dialed Sadie’s cell phone number.

What she needed was her best friend to set her straight. If anyone knew how to
not
get distracted by a man, it was Sadie Howard.

Shane would choose a Novocain-free dental visit over Lori LaRouche’s nasal voice any day of the week. He managed to smile through their meeting; that is until she teased his lapel with one red talon and invited him back to her place. He begged off through gritted teeth, claiming he had another meeting.

Lori was beautiful, he’d add “for an older woman,” but that wasn’t fair. Lori was beautiful, period. He’d had dealings with Lori in the past, and as much as he wished they were strictly business dealings, they weren’t. He had been twenty-one, with shaky confidence and a rocky bank account. Lori had been an in-her-prime thirty-five and had taken an interest in him.
Thirty-five.
That’s how old he was now. He couldn’t imagine having an interest in a twenty-one-year-old. Especially one as immature as he’d been.

Back then, Shane hadn’t yet learned to control his impulses. Too flattered to say no, he’d seized Lori’s offer with both hands. The affair was short-lived, a handful of dates mostly at her place. Lori was the one who taught him sex was sex and love wasn’t worth considering. He’d been on his way to arriving at the conclusion anyway, but Lori cemented it.

On the limo ride back to the office, Shane jotted down a note to talk to Crickitt about Lori’s account. Maybe he should have them sit down together. He twisted his lips. Maybe not.

It was hard to conceive how he’d ever become intimately involved with a predatory woman like Lori. She’d dressed to kill today in a tight black dress, tall heels, and patterned stockings likely clipped to a pair of lacy garters. And yet, Shane found himself barely tolerating her attempt to get his attention, leaning away any time she moved to touch him. On the other hand, he hadn’t been able to get Crickitt out of his mind since the moment she’d inadvertently tugged her bottom lip with her teeth. He pictured her again, arms folded on top of her desk, curls tumbling around her face as she looked up at him. He shifted discretely, his pants suddenly tight. Geez. If the woman only knew how crazy she made him…

Yeah? And what if she knew you’d slept with a client years ago?

Bet she wouldn’t kiss him then, he thought with a derisive chuckle. If Crickitt was anything, it was genuine.

He may not have known her for very long, but there was a blatant earnestness in Crickitt he couldn’t deny. If he wanted to prove she said just what was on her mind, he need look no further than Henry Townsend. And he knew from personal experience she
did
what was on her mind, too. She was the one who kissed him, wasn’t she?

“Yes, she was,” he said aloud, waving off the glance Thomas threw at him from the rearview mirror.

No, Crickitt may be smack in the middle of restarting her life, but he knew enough about her to know that “arm candy to a sugar daddy” wasn’t anywhere in her agenda.

The limo came to a stop and Shane got out, waving good-bye to Thomas. As he walked into the building, his stomach clenched. On the elevator up, his heart rate increased with the floors, the handle on his briefcase slick with sweat. He felt almost…nervous. Which made no sense. How many times had he walked this same route to his office? Hundreds.
Thousands.

Stepping into the waiting area, he waved hello to Keena and crested the short staircase leading to his and Crickitt’s adjacent offices. The closer he drew to her door, the more edgy he felt. Perspiration beaded his lip and he wiped it away, bemused. The last time he had a case of nerves around a woman was junior prom.

He’d tried to keep a professional distance, but trying
not
to notice Crickitt only made him notice her more. He’d enjoyed discovering her little tics when she didn’t know he was watching. Like whenever she moved from notebook to keyboard. She didn’t drop her pen, instead resting it between her plush lips while she typed. Or what about the way she wound the writing utensil through her curls when she talked on the phone? Last he checked ink pens weren’t erotic. But as with the clunky mailbag she carried or the square-heeled loafers she wore, Crickitt had a way of making bland look damn sexy.

And he wasn’t the only one of them struggling with boundaries. This morning she’d been salivating over a part of his anatomy well outside the “friend zone.” Even now, the memory made parts of him stand taller. At her door, he raised a fist to announce his arrival, stopping just short of knocking. Her door was closed? Crickitt never shut her door.

Since she’d started working for him, he found himself following her lead, propping his door open more often than not. When he asked her why the “open-door policy,” she claimed the barricade would only slow her down. To her point, she did run around this place like her hair was on fire. He blamed the complimentary coffee bar down the hall at first, but seeing how quickly she fled after kissing him, he’d concluded warp was her normal speed.

He lifted his hand again, but this time, Crickitt’s raised voice stopped him cold.

“How can you say that?” she spat in a tone accusatory and hurting at the same time. “I buried nine years of marriage because you wanted out. You stopped loving me first. Don’t forget that.”

Whoa.
Shane retreated from the door, even as he felt a surge of protectiveness for her well up within him. But he didn’t dare go in. It was a private conversation and none of his business. He backpedaled to his office, watching her closed door for two more seconds before pulling his door to as quietly as possible.

Forget you heard any of it,
some part of him silently warned.

At his desk, Shane leafed through his mesh in-box and found a stack of phone calls to return. He reread the same one four times without comprehension before tossing it aside and slumping in his chair. He couldn’t forget her words or the painful undercurrent in her voice when she said them.

You stopped loving me first.

The words echoed in his head once, twice, and just for kicks, looped a third time and kneed him in the nuts. Something about the phrase sent a graveyard chill over his skin, made him want to ignore the emotions that came with it. Ugly, banished, and best left in the dark.

You stopped loving me first.

It wasn’t as if he’d been close enough to a woman to commit the same crime as Crickitt’s jerk of an ex-husband. Shane made sure not to get to the point where deep feelings came into play. And because he always set expectations, the women he’d been involved with in the past hadn’t left brokenhearted, just pissed off.