Volcano (31 page)

She struggled briefly, but even in the rarefied air of this environment, the electricity between them ignited fires. Charlie sighed with delight as her lips softened beneath his and the sweetness of her breath invaded his mouth.

“Charlie,” she whispered, embarrassed, as he relented and released her mouth. She'd caught her fingers in the faded fabric of his work shirt, and he could feel the heat of them against his chest. Maybe he should start wearing the shirt unbuttoned.

“I don't know what's going on here,” Charlie murmured as he slid his hands under her jacket to stroke the silk beneath, “but I'm about ready to admit that it's more than sex. How about you?”

“Impossible.” She struggled to free herself, and Charlie let her go. Her hand flew up to check the tight knot of her hair and adjust her glasses. She gestured helplessly with her other hand. “You said you wanted to be a client.”

He hadn't imagined how much that one little word,
impossible,
could hurt. He'd thought she was enjoying this as much as he was. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he'd just embarrassed the hell out of her. “Right,” he ground out between clenched teeth as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Impossible to imagine anything between a clown and Miss Junior League. What was I thinking?”

She flung the papers in her hands onto her desk and retreated to her office chair. “That's an insult to clowns and probably to the Junior League. I'm a little too bossy for the tea-and-garden-party set. Now, what is it we're supposed to be doing?”

Charlie relaxed a fraction as he settled into a rolling leather chair. He'd flustered her, he could tell. She wouldn't look him in the eye. “Okay, if we're not clown and Junior League, what are we, then? Oil and water? Is it so impossible to think maybe we've got something going between us?”

She ran her long, slender hands up and down her face. “Don't do this to me, Charlie. I'm scared to death about Beth, I'm worried about my job, about this whole blasted mess. I can't even think straight anymore. Just tell me what we're supposed to be doing here besides providing entertainment for the rest of the firm.”

So, she'd noticed it too. Charlie relaxed and hid a smile. “I'll come back next time in my best funeral suit. We'll see if they like that any better.”

A faint smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Wear it with muddy boots. Then they can have the cleaning crew follow us around.” She shook her head and finally met his gaze. “Charlie, I'm real good at games. Don't make me play them. You can come in here wearing a clown suit for all I care, but let's do it some other time. I want to get this over with and get on with my life.”

She said that as if she expected the rest of her life not to include him. He'd correct that impression later. He could be just as stubborn as she could. Charlie leaned forward and confiscated her desk phone. “I have to call my lawyer and start working on the bank account problems. You need to find those Jacobsen files and tell me anything that's open for public record. Look for new companies.”

She seemed relieved to be treading familiar ground. “Let me check my messages first. Believe it or not, I do have real clients.”

Charlie relinquished the phone. “Are there rules against having an affair with clients?” he asked innocently.

“Why ask?” She pushed a stray hair from her face as she hit her message button. “You'd break them anyway.”

She didn't appear too worried about that. She seemed completely cool about the whole thing. Charlie admired her professional attitude as she jotted notes and ignored him. He had tidal heat waves surging through him just looking at her. She hid anything she felt behind her demure demeanor. Knowing her that intimately reassured him.

He enjoyed it even more when a starched rump in an Italian suit and impeccably styled silver hair rapped on the door, walked in, and raised an eyebrow at Charlie's appearance. Deliberately not rising, Charlie stretched his Nike-clad size-fifteens out in front of him.

“Miss Albright, if I might have a word with you...” the rump said icily.

Penelope clicked off her machine and nodded. “Mr. Poindexter, this is Charles Smith, of Smith and Son Construction, a new client.” She turned to Charlie. “If you don't mind, Mr. Smith?”

Charlie waved his hand magnanimously. “Not at all.” He turned his gaze back to the Italian suit. “Miss Albright was generous enough to show me how her software could help my St. Lucia project. If this works out, I'm recommending her to St. Philippe and his cronies back on the island. The Foundation's accounting system could use updating.”

Charlie watched Poindexter's spine stiffen, his eyes narrow, and his gaze shoot obliquely to Penelope as she emerged from behind her desk. He couldn't tell if it was guilt or greed causing the reaction, but the old goat recognized Emile's name.

Poindexter managed a nod of acknowledgment. “Miss Albright is one of our best.” He held up his hand to Penelope. “Don't let me interrupt. I'll come back later. I simply wanted to remind you that we have the quality-control team in next week. Your time sheet will need to be on my desk first thing Wednesday morning. It was good meeting you, Mr. Smith.” He strolled out, leaving Penny gaping after him.

She turned her amazed gaze to Charlie and he shrugged. “I'm good at games too. The old competitive instinct kicks in. If I bring in Emile's account, do you think Poindexter will invite me to the office Christmas party?”

“I'll invite you to the office Christmas party,” she muttered, returning to her chair. “The phone's all yours. I'll call up the file on the computer and work from there.” She rubbed her hand over her wrinkled brow. “What the
hell
am I going to put on my time sheet?”

Figuring that was a rhetorical question, Charlie copped the phone. He had employees to pay. Their groceries were more important than Penelope's time sheet.

He called his office and listened to Sherry pour out the list of problems stacking up on his desk. He called his lawyer and left a message. As he worked, he watched Penelope frown over her computer screen, pound away at the keys, and print out stacks of material. She didn't seem conscious of his presence. Accustomed to the kind of women who clung to his arms and hung on his every word, Charlie decided he could learn to enjoy the freedom Penelope's independence gave him almost as much as he enjoyed watching her full lips pucker thoughtfully as she frowned at her screen.

Penelope shoved her chair back and rose just as he hung up the telephone after leaving another message for his lawyer. “I'm looking for Jacobsen's file. What I want doesn't seem to be in the computer.”

She stalked out without giving him a chance to reply. Okay, so maybe he had to teach her to share a little better. He could live with that. Charlie reached for the phone book. Now was the time for a few more interesting calls.

***

By the time Penelope returned to her office, Charlie was apparently speaking with Raul. Figuring Raul must be using Beth's cell phone, Penelope flipped through the pages of the file she'd found, seeking the information she needed while listening to Charlie's end of the conversation with half an ear. Charlie had puckered his forehead in thought, but he didn't seem in any panic, so she assumed the van was safely on its way to Disney World without incident.

With delight, she discovered a list of Jacobsen's interconnected corporations and began jotting notes. The man had his fingers in almost every development pie on the south coast. And Charlie thought his corporation was bigger? He must be dreaming.

“Shit.” Charlie slammed the phone down and glared at it.

Penelope's stomach did a nervous jig as she looked up at him. “Are they all right?”

Startled as if he'd forgotten he wasn't alone, he glanced up and attempted a smile. “The kids are bouncing up and down, your brother-in-law is barking commands, and Tammy isn't speaking to Raul, if that counts for anything.”

“And Beth's singing,” she finished wryly. “It's how she deals with stress.”

“I think I heard ‘I Will Survive' in the background,” he admitted with a slightly bigger grin as the tune registered.

“But something's wrong,” she prompted him.

He raked his hand through his disheveled hair. “Before Raul pulled his disappearing act a week or so ago, the office trailer on the island was ransacked several times while Raul was out. Or with Tammy,” he said grimly. “When he took to sleeping in the trailer with a shotgun, someone tried to set fire to it—while he was inside. They sabotaged his truck and piped raw sewage into the drinking water. His watch and the cash drawer were stolen on one of the nights the trailer was ransacked. He wasn't aware the bank account had been emptied, but he figures the thief must have taken blank checks at the same time.”

“How did his watch end up on a body in his hut or tree house or whatever you called it?”

Charlie's shoulders slumped. “That's where the story gets sticky. Raul's positive Emile found out about him and Tammy. It got so Tammy couldn't leave the house without someone with her. When she did slip away, she thought she was being followed. After the fire at the trailer, Raul didn't dare meet her in the jungle again for fear she would get hurt. He didn't know the tree house had been burned, but it's obvious the same thief who ransacked the trailer and stole his watch had to be the one who died in the fire. He may have been lying in wait for them. Besides Tammy, the only people who knew about the place had to be whoever was following Tammy and whoever hired him. Since Emile is the only person with a reason or the resources to have Tammy followed...”

“That connects Emile with the thief and the sabotage,” Penelope finished with a sigh. “Not good.”

The intercom buzzed and they both jumped. Chuckling nervously, Penelope hit the button.

“You have a delivery, Miss Albright,” the receptionist announced. “I can't get away from my desk right now.”

“I'll be out in a minute, Rachel.” Penelope sat back in her chair and watched the man across from her with sympathy. Betrayal by family had to hurt the most. She tried to distract him with what she hoped was a more cheerful topic. “Did you get the bank account situation straightened out yet?”

Charlie's jaw muscles tightened more. “I can't reach my lawyer. He isn't returning my messages.” He stood up. “I'll go get your delivery. I have some thinking to do anyway.”

Penelope's eyes widened as Charlie strode out as if he owned the place. Clients didn't
do
that, not unless they were powerful men accustomed to running whatever office they entered, and then they didn't go pick up deliveries for the peons working for them.

She was engrossed in note-taking when Charlie returned. She could almost sense his step as he shut the door and crossed the room, but she didn't look up from her task until he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. In surprise, she lifted her eyes and encountered a crystal vase glittering in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Spilling from the vase were a dozen perfect sweetheart roses in an assortment of colors. She dropped her mechanical pencil in astonishment.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” Charlie whispered from somewhere beside her, but she could scarcely tear her gaze from the roses.

She'd received dozens of bouquets during high school and college and her modeling career. Men flashed them like diamonds, expecting a lot in return. Red hothouse roses had the same hard, scentless uselessness as diamonds.

The perfumed fragrance of the roses in front of her filled the room, and rainbows danced with the light through the crystal. This bouquet was
alive
with color and light and scent. She'd never seen anything so perfect in her life.

“It's okay if you don't like them,” Charlie said flatly, moving away. “It was the best I could do at the last minute. The florists were sold out days ago. I had a friend with a nursery put these together, but they're scarcely those big things the florists have. Sorry.” He dropped into his leather chair and reached for the phone again.

Penelope choked on any reply she could have made. She couldn't remember anyone actually
caring
whether she liked her roses or not. They just expected her to jump with joy because they'd spent a lot of money.

Gently, she touched a velvet yellow petal. She must be out of her mind to get weepy and sentimental over a stupid rose.

“They're the most gorgeous roses I've ever seen, Charlie,” she finally whispered as he punched the buttons of her phone as if it were his personal enemy. He'd wear the numbers right off if he hit them any harder.

He flashed her a bleak smile and shrugged as the person on the other end apparently answered.

She'd
hurt
him, actually hurt this arrogant man who had pushed her around for days. She'd insulted him, dumped fish bait over his head, smacked him, and heaven only knew what else, and he'd cheerfully proceeded without complaint. But he hadn't been able to offer her a flashy present, so he thought her silence meant she was rejecting his meager gift. Stupid man.

She hadn't realized it was Valentine's Day. She hadn't received a Valentine's gift in years. It was one more holiday she'd written off her list and pretended didn't exist. She wished she had something to give Charlie in return. The roses had melted a great big puddle in the vicinity of her long-absent heart, and she ought to return the favor.