The Real Deal (8 page)

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Authors: Lucy Monroe

BOOK: The Real Deal
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Goose bumps broke out on her bare arms. From the breeze, she told herself, not because his fingers had brushed against her skin while pulling off the ice-yellow blazer.
He folded her jacket and laid it on top of her shoes, placing her briefcase neatly beside the pile.
Then he looked at her feet. “Those nylons will make you slide on the mats. You could fall.”
“They're not nylons,” she said before thinking.
“You wear stockings?” For some reason his voice sounded quite strange when he asked that.
Her gaze flew to his face, but his expression gave nothing away.
“I wear thigh-highs. They're more comfortable than either nylons or a garter and stockings.”
Shut up
. Stop blabbering on. He doesn't want to know about the comfort level of your stay-up stockings.
“Thigh-highs?” There went that quizzical brow again.
“They stay up with a lacy elastic band around your thigh.”
“Not my thigh.” His deep rich chuckle and flashing white teeth made her insides curl.
“You know what I meant.”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Why are we talking about my thigh-highs anyway?”
“You need to take them off.”
If he'd looked even the least intrigued by the idea, she would have refused, but he spoke completely dispassionately. It was as if the thought of her taking off her semi-intimate apparel was no more interesting to him than the latest stock figures. In fact, those might have excited him. She'd seen that the market was up just a bit today.
She'd look a fool playing the outraged Victorian maiden when he so clearly saw her as the perfect sparring dummy, not as a woman.
There was nothing new about that.
The knowledge should not have the power to hurt her anymore, but it did.
While not surprising, it was still lowering to admit that the first man she'd been attracted to in years saw her as nothing more than a nuisance he had to spend time with in order to keep his promise to his cousin.
She turned away from him and reaching up under her skirt, she removed first one stocking and then the other. Air brushed her naked legs like a touch and she shivered again.
Schooling her expression into impassivity, she turned back to Simon.
He wasn't even looking at her. He was drinking out of a water bottle she hadn't noticed earlier.
“I'm ready.”
He took another pull off the bottle and then put it down. “Okay. Come stand over here.”
He maneuvered her into position with his hands on her shoulders. He was so close, she could smell his body's unique fragrance enhanced by sweat from his workout. Would he smell like that after making love?
She would never know, and with that acknowledgment, she slammed the lid on that particular line of thought.
“You stand like this.” He grabbed the wrist and elbow of her right hand and put it in a blocking position. “Switch arms when I switch sides of attack. Can you do that?”
“Sure.”
Just stop touching me before I do something we'll both regret
.
He looked at her strangely. “Are you okay? I'm not going to hit you. I just want a target to aim for. The sparring routine will be completely noncontact.”
She nodded. “You can start.”
He did and true to his word, though he came within a breath of touching her with each blow, he never made contact. They'd been working out for about five minutes when he reminded her she was supposed to be talking.
“Right. First, I think you need to consider the merger in terms of future growth rather than the minimal cost to the current pool of employees.”
Simon didn't respond, he just let her talk. Not by the flicker of an eyelash did he indicate if he was even listening.
Every once in a while, he would change her position to facilitate his workout. He did it silently, but regardless, each time she lost her train of thought and had to search her mind for the point she'd been making.
“You need to change your blocking arm faster.”
She stopped in mid-spate of telling him about the projected increase in market share the combined companies would have. “What?”
“I need you to be faster in changing your blocking arm.”
So, she increased her speed and found herself moving into basic Tae Bo blocking positions. Pretty soon she was panting between words and sweat was trickling down her back, making the silk of her white tank top stick to her.
“Okay, now let's work on your form.”
Without knowing how it happened, she was surrounded completely by Simon with her back brushing against his chest. He took hold of each of her arms and put her into position. “Relax, Amanda. Let your body move with mine.”
She was really glad her back was to him and they were facing the windows with a view of the water, not the mirrored wall that would have reflected their tableau with entirely too much realism. Because the thought of her body moving with his had her nipples puckering painfully. Both layers of her silk top and bra were not adequate to hide the evidence and she prayed he would stay behind her.
She tried to concentrate on doing as he'd said and following his movements with the same fluidity his limbs enjoyed.
“This isn't necessary, you know.”
He didn't answer, but one big hand landed on her thigh, the fingers exerting pressure for her leg to move into position.
She'd wanted fluidity of movement, but she was in danger of losing control over her muscles as her bones literally turned to water. Her body wanted to melt into a puddle of sexual need on the floor mat below her feet. Only sheer force of will kept her knees from buckling as his fingers moved against her thigh.
Oh, mother! She'd never been this excited, not even in the act of copulation with Lance. And Simon wasn't even trying to turn her on. He was teaching her form, for Heaven's sake.
She stumbled on her stance and Simon's hand slid toward her inner thigh. Only the fact she was wearing a straight skirt that had been stretched taut by her current position stopped his fingers from going between her legs. Nevertheless, his fingertips brushed the very top of her mound and three layers of fabric did not dull the impact on her senses.
She yelped and twisted out of his arms, almost running in her desire to put some distance between them.
“What's the matter? Do you have a cramp?”
Crossing her arms over the telling evidence prominent on her overgenerous breasts, she shook her head. He didn't even know what was bothering her. That knowledge, more than any other had her crossing the room and yanking her jacket on. “You're done with your workout, right?”
He nodded. “But we still need to work on your form.”
She slid into her shoes without putting on her stockings. “I'd rather finish giving you my presentation on the merger.”
“All right, but I had planned to take a short swim. Would you like to join me?”
Not in this lifetime. How did he expect her to swim? Naked? As her body exhibited further evidence of increasing arousal, she chastised herself.
Bad thought, Amanda, bad, bad, thought.
“No, but I wouldn't mind taking a shower.” She wished she had some clean clothes with her. She could feel her perspiration not yet dry on her body.
Simon walked to a small speaking unit on the wall and pressed a button. “Jacob?”
“Yes, sir,” came the disembodied voice of Simon's housekeeper.
“Amanda got a little sweaty playing my dummy and she wants to take a shower. I think you two might be similar in size. Could you dig up some clean clothes for her to put on when she's done?”
If Simon had asked, she would have refused the offer of clothing, but he hadn't asked. Hearing that he considered her five-foot-four-inch curvy frame on par in size with his housekeeper's masculine, but wiry five-foot-nine, did nothing for her sense of self-confidence.
She could almost feel the sting of one of Lance's
love pats
on her thigh and hear the words that invariably accompanied it. “Did you get your exercise in this morning, hon?” He'd always managed to make it seem like he doubted the possibility.
When she'd called him on it, he'd told her she was reading things into his words and gone into psychobabble about how damaging that was to the communication of free ideas in a marriage. He'd had the gall to tell her that her reactions made him feel intimidated about being open with her.
She allowed herself a small smirk, remembering she'd told him the same thing about his reaction after she destroyed the big screen television.
“Amanda?”
She looked up and realized that Simon had been saying something to her that she hadn't caught. “I'm sorry. I missed that.”
He looked at her quizzically, but she blanked her expression.
“Jacob will show you to the guest room shower and bring you some clothes to wear. I'll see you upstairs in the great room after I've had my swim and shower.”
“You won't disappear into your lab again, will you?”
Color burnished his taut cheekbones, but he didn't make any promises. “I don't think so.”
She glared at him. “Simon, you're a grown man. Are you, or are you not going to meet me in the great room after your swim? If you aren't, I'd rather go home and shower.”
“I have every intention of joining you for dinner after taking my swim.”
She picked up her briefcase and shoved her thigh-highs into it. “Okay.”
Jacob had materialized at the door and she turned to follow him. “I'll see you shortly, Simon.”
He didn't answer and she refused to let that worry her.
His interpersonal communication skills weren't that great, but she'd gotten through at least a third of her presentation already. She could easily outline the last two-thirds over dinner.
If he made it to dinner.
Chapter 5
S
he wasn't going to wear a pair of bulky men's sweatpants.
This might not be Southern California, but it was early summer and the weather was warm. She had no intention of sweating it out in the thick fabric. If a niggling sense of feminine pride refused to be seen dressed like someone's dotty old uncle that was all right, too.
Tossing the pants aside, she picked up the charcoal gray cotton T-shirt Jacob had lent her and pulled it on. The dark color prevented her lack of a bra from being indecent. She didn't like putting on the same pair of underwear after a shower, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that it had been the top half of her body perspiring during the workout.
She tugged her skirt up over her hips and zipped it, before turning to look in the full-length mirror.
The T-shirt didn't look too bad with the skirt, but tucked in, it outlined her breasts a little too smartly. She pulled it out and the hem fell loosely around her hips. She bit her lip. That was better, but her hair was a bedraggled mess. She'd used a shower cap to keep it somewhat dry. However, that had only aided in ruining the style.
Its customary sleek French twist was coming apart and several hanks of hair hung down her neck. She pulled out the pins she used to secure the bun and then gave it a vigorous brushing with the brush Jacob had left for her.
She didn't have any hairspray to smooth the style back into place, so she used a hair tie from her purse to secure it into a high ponytail on the back of her head. The ends of her hair brushed between her shoulder blades, but the tie kept it off her neck.
Foregoing her shoes, she left them in a neat pile with the rest of her things in the bathroom. She could get them later.
She could not imagine attending a business meeting with anyone but Simon Brant barefoot and in borrowed clothes. She could not imagine playing sparring dummy for a Tae Kwon Do session for anyone else either. Life around him was as full of eccentricities as he was.
She liked it.
She made her way to the great room, her feet drawing her to the wall of windows of their own accord. It was an irresistible view, the ocean looking both infinite and ever changing.
She pressed her hand against the glass, not worried about leaving prints because of her recent shower. It was warm from the sun, its hard, smooth surface a tactile pleasure for her. How long would Simon's swim take?
Movement to her right caught her attention and she watched as Jacob set the table outside for dinner. He crossed the deck and disappeared into the house to her left.
She was still standing at the window when Simon came in.
“You should see the view when there's a storm.” Muscles tensed and her lungs seemed to contract. All this because the man had walked into the room? She needed to get out more. Thinking back over the dearth of dates in the last two years, she amended that to she needed to get out, period.
She forced herself to respond to what he'd said instead of her reaction to him. “I would probably be nervous. Having the only thing between me and the elements, a thin wall of glass.”
“It's not thin.”
That's right. He'd told her it was reinforced. “It's still glass.”
“I suppose you'd be more comfortable if there were drapes to draw across the windows so you could block out what is beyond them.” He didn't sound condescending, just thoughtful.
And he was right. She shrugged. “It's not my house, so it hardly matters.” She turned to face him.
His black hair was still wet and though it was slicked back from his face, he hadn't confined the shoulder-length strands into a ponytail. He was wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. Didn't the man ever wear a shirt? With his dark skin tone, he looked like a tribal warrior.
“Did you enjoy your swim?”
It was his turn to shrug and the naked skin on his chest rippled with his muscle's movement. “I don't swim for pleasure. Doing the laps is the most efficient way to end my workout.”
“You're not going to convince me you don't enjoy your martial arts sessions. You're way too proficient just to do them for exercise. What color belt are you anyway?”
She'd be surprised if he wasn't a black belt.
“Does it matter?” He was looking at her like she was a bug on a pin, all scientific curiosity and something else that could have been mistaken for male interest if she didn't know better.
“Not really. I'm just making conversation.” His social skills were not on par with his other abilities. For some reason, she found that rather endearing. “It would be polite for you to answer the question, unless you have some reason for not wanting to do so.”
Two thin streaks of red burnished his high cheekbones, indicating he was aware he'd blundered in the politeness arena and was actually bothered by the fact. “I am a Grand Master Black Belt.”
“That's pretty impressive.”
“Is it?” He seemed genuinely interested in her answer, the storm-cloud gray of his eyes reflecting curiosity.
“Yes. I'm impressed anyway. It takes a lot of self-discipline and work to make it that far.”
He appeared to contemplate that. “There wasn't anything else to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I started studying Tae Kwon Do with my mother's uncle when I was four years old. I was already in school by then with children that were older and bigger than me. I didn't have playmates, so studying with my great-uncle gave me something to do.”
It was hard to imagine a time when he'd been smaller than his peers. He was such a big man now. “Eric said you were a child prodigy.”
“Yes.”
“Was it hard always being younger than everyone around you?”
An expression that hinted at deep loneliness and pain crossed his masculine features before he nodded briefly.
“Jacob has put dinner on the table.”
The abrupt change in topic jolted her.
He stepped around her and pushed the button that slid the glass panel open. “After you.” He brought his right hand out with an Old World flourish.
She smiled and walked by him, shocked when she felt a tug on her ponytail.
“I like this. It's not so stuffy.” He let go immediately, so she didn't take umbrage.
She looked down at her attire and lack of shoes. “I'd say we're both as far from stuffy as it's possible to get right now.” But something twinged inside her at his description of her usual mode of dress. He made it sound like she dressed like an old lady, but though her clothes were conservative in style, she'd always tried to maintain a certain level of chic.
Admittedly, she did not wear anything even remotely sexy or excessively feminine.
“That gray looks good on you. You've got such pale skin for your hair color. It's a fascinating contrast.”
She let him seat her before answering. “I take after my great-grandmother and fascinating isn't how most Southern Californians view my pasty white skin tone.”
“You make it sound as if you look ill and you don't.”
“I don't tan. I burn. To most Southern Californians,
that is an illness
.” She laughed lightly, making a joke of it, but she could still remember the sessions in the tanning beds trying to cultivate the right look in her teens.
“People who sunbathe frequently are at higher risk for skin cancer. Their skin ages prematurely as well.”
She gave a speaking look to his naked torso. “I appreciate that now, as an adult. As a teenager, I didn't really care. I wanted to look like everyone else.” Even if she'd tanned, she still would have had more curves than most of the other girls.
He looked down at himself and then back at her. “I like the feel of the sun on my skin after spending so much time inside my lab, but I don't lay around in the sun for hours on end cultivating a tan.”
She looked at his olive skin tone. “You don't need to.”
“Neither do you.”
That was nice of him to say and maybe he did find pasty white a fascinating skin tone. “It doesn't matter. I gave up trying to tan years ago.”
“Good.”
She smiled.
“I know what it feels like not to fit in, but trying to be like everyone around you doesn't work.”
“Your looks weren't your problem.” He was too gorgeous.
He didn't preen under the compliment like so many of the plastic men from her Southern California world would have. “It was my age,” he said, repeating what he'd said earlier.
“Did it ever get any easier?”
“I thought it did, for a while when I was a teenager.”
“What happened?” Would he slap her down for prying into things that were none of her business, that were, moreover, totally unrelated to why she was there? She couldn't help the interest that burned inside her to know him better.
“I tried doing what the adults around me did.”
“That's pretty typical for a teenager.”
“Yeah, well, most teens try to act like adults with each other. I was surrounded by people several years older than me and light years ahead of me in life experience.”
“You got hurt.”
“You could say that. I learned some important truths in the process though.”
She didn't push for more, but maybe one day he would tell her. Then she chided herself. What was she thinking? Once this merger went through, she'd never see him again.
“Is that why you live on an island now and work at home, so you don't have to worry about fitting in?”
“Maybe. I've never thought about it, but what I do could not be done in a nine-to-five environment.”
“No, I don't suppose it could. Did you always want to be an inventor?”
Jacob materialized, putting a bowl of chilled mango soup in front of each of them. Then he left.
Simon tasted the soup, smiled and took another spoonful before answering. “I've always hungered to discover new things, new ways to accomplish the same tasks, and more efficient use of the resources at hand.”
“That sounds a lot broader than new computer design.”
“Computers have always played a central role. It's only natural considering who my father was, but I experiment in other areas as well.”
“What are you working on right now?” She tasted the soup. It was ambrosia. Creamy and smooth, it had a hint of coconut flavor as well as peach mixed with the mango.
“One of my current projects is wind powered fuel cells as an alternate form of energy.”
Of course he wouldn't work on one thing at a time.
“Any success?”
“Mild.”
“What's a fuel cell?” She knew what a windmill was. There were hundreds of them in the California desert. However, she'd never heard of a fuel cell.
“It's like a super-efficient battery run on hydrogen and air. When you need the energy, you run the gases through the layers of the cell, with one of the by-products being electricity.”
“What are the other by-products?” She remembered that nuclear power had been touted as a clean source of energy, and look at the problems the waste by-products had made for the power plants.
“If hydrogen and air are used for the fuel, the secondary by-product is pure drinking water. Hydrogen is the most abundant chemical in the universe and preliminary tests have shown the fuel cell to be at least twice as efficient as other energy sources. And there are no moving parts to wear out.”
He was so enthusiastic, he was positively chatty.
“It sounds too good to be true.”
“There are still a lot of variables that need to be dealt with before it will be a viable alternative for mass energy use.”
“And you're working on those variables right now in your lab?”
“Me and probably a hundred other alternative energy source enthusiasts.”
She laid down her spoon and stretched her bare toes toward the warm sun. Simon had led her to a seat on the side of the table shaded by an umbrella. “When do you find time to develop prototypes for Brant Computers?”
“I'm not responsible for all prototype development.”
“But I thought you were the top design engineer at Brant.” She was sure that was how Eric had explained Simon's role in the company.
“I think my title is something like Design Engineer Fellow.”
She smiled. “You don't know?”
Gray eyes bore into hers. “It doesn't matter. I do what I do because it is what I like to do.”

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