[4 Seasons 01] Seducing Summer (10 page)

“I don’t. What about your mother?”

The question whipped the rug out from under
him. His smile faded. “She died when I was eleven.”

“You still miss her.” It was a statement,
not a question.

“Yes.”

“Were you close?”

“I don’t know. No more than any other
eleven-year-old boy and his mum, I guess. She was… in my corner, I suppose. She
often stood up for me and defended me when my father picked on me, and I’ve
missed that as I’ve grown up.” He blinked, only realizing how true the words
were when they’d fallen out of his mouth. He leaned forward, resting his
forearms on the table, closing the distance between them. “I don’t know what it
is about you that makes me say things I wouldn’t normally say to people.”

“I have that kind of face.” She sipped her
wine, her gaze remaining fixed to his. “You called me beautiful.”

“Are you fishing for compliments? You are
beautiful, you must know that.”

She leaned forward too, and suddenly they
were only a foot apart. He could smell her perfume, and the sweet wine she’d
drunk. She had long eyelashes, and now he could see she’d applied a sparkly
eyeshadow that was probably what was making her eyes look so blue tonight. “You
really think so?”

His gaze slipped to her mouth, resting on
the soft pink velvet of her lips. Every cell in his body urged him to lean
forward and touch his lips to hers. “I really think so,” he whispered. “Now
behave, or I’ll do something I’ll regret.”

Callie had difficulty concentrating during
the meal on anything other than Gene’s mouth and her desire to kiss him. Maybe
it was the wine, although two glasses wasn’t usually enough to make her throw
herself at the first guy who was nice to her. His compliment had warmed her to
him, but again, just the fact that he’d been nice wasn’t enough to turn her
lust dial up to eleven.

It didn’t help when he slid off his jacket,
asked her to help him remove his cufflinks, then proceeded to roll up his shirt
sleeves, exposing his forearms to the elbow. She felt like a Victorian
gentleman who’d seen a lady’s ankle. His arms were tanned and sinewy, and he
looked as if he lifted weights on a regular basis. Everything about this guy
was hard, from his eyes to the set of his jaw to his masculine body.

He’d be hard down below, too, she knew it—she’d
unzip his trousers and his erection would spring into her hand, stiff as a lamppost.
When she stroked it, the velvety layer of skin would glide over the concrete
shaft. She could almost imagine the way he’d close his eyes and tip back his
head as she massaged him, until he shuddered and groaned as he came…

Callie blinked. Gene was sliding a forkful
of salmon and oyster into his mouth, but his lips were curving up, and he smiled
now as he chewed. The muscles of his throat constricted as he swallowed. “Penny
for them,” he said.

“Sorry.” Callie fished out the last scallop
from her meal. “Far too lewd to relay.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You say
exactly what’s on your mind, don’t you?”

“Don’t see much point in being coy.” She
chewed the scallop. “We’re both single, aren’t we? Where’s the harm in a little
lighthearted flirting?”

“Why are you single?” He wiped his mouth on
his serviette and sat back. “I know you broke up with Jamie, but that doesn’t
explain why some other man hasn’t snapped you up.”

She shrugged. “Actually, offers haven’t
come flooding in. I think it’s about signals—when a person’s actively looking
for a date, he or she transmits some kind of vibe that announces they’re free.
I don’t think I’m ready to put out that vibe yet. Apart from to you,
obviously.”

“Callie… you are an outrageous flirt.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s fun. And you’re…
safe.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I know it can’t come to anything. I’m just
teasing, that’s all.”

“You realize that if it was the other way
around, you’d probably be accusing me of sexual harassment?”

Her smile fell. She hadn’t thought of it
like that, but he was right, of course. An office manager who made constant
sexual suggestions to his PA would be rapped on the knuckles in no time. Her
face filled with heat. “Oh, of course. I thought it was funny—I hadn’t
considered that it might make you uncomfortable.”

Immediately, concern filled his features.
“It doesn’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m flattered. It
was just a passing comment.”

“Even so…” Now she felt embarrassed and
angry with herself. Equality was a two-way street. She couldn’t take offence at
a man making unwelcome lewd suggestions to her when she was doing exactly the
same to him! No wonder men got so confused nowadays. “I apologize.”

“Callie…” His expression softened. “Don’t
get me wrong. I don’t want you to think I’m not interested, because I am, very
much so. But until I stop working for you, I can’t do anything about it. I just
can’t. It wouldn’t feel right.”

He really liked her. Tears pricked Callie’s
eyes and she sucked her bottom lip. “You have principles,” she said. “I like
that.”

“I like to think I’m a gentleman, if
nothing else. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” she said softly.

They studied each other for a moment. His
eyes were clear and honest.

“So,” she whispered, “the day when Becky
comes back and you stop working for me…”

“I’ll be knocking on your door asking for a
date the day that happens.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Three months. She could wait that long,
surely?

“You want me to stop flirting?” she asked
playfully.

His lips curved up. “Not necessarily. As
long as we understand each other.”

She nodded. “I think so.”

“Okay, then.” He accepted the menu from the
waiter who’d come up to clear their plates. “I reckon it’s dessert time.”

They both chose a Belgian chocolate pot and
ate it slowly, dipping the biscotti into the velvety chocolate cream, and
Callie knew she’d forever associate the taste of dark chocolate with that
moment—the sun falling across the table and turning Gene’s hair from brown to
golden, the jazz music playing in the background, the smell of the sea drifting
in through the windows, and the look in his eyes that said what his lips
couldn’t yet—that he liked her, and that he wanted to get to know her better.
The air held the promise of something beautiful, like the russet-and-orange sky
outside, promising it would be a gorgeous day tomorrow.

They talked about this and that while they
ate, about music, books, movies, and whatever else came into their heads. Then,
eventually, it was time to go.

As they walked through the restaurant,
Callie felt the touch of Gene’s hand in the center of her back. Ostensibly, it
was to guide her through the busy tables, she was sure, but it felt like a
brand, as if he was telling her, telling the men seated around them, that they
had to keep their hands off. It should have annoyed her. How long had she known
him, four, five days? And all he’d said was that in three months’ time he might
ask her out on a date.

But as they passed the mirrors behind the
bar, Callie saw that she was smiling.

They walked up the stairs to the first
floor—it wasn’t really far enough to take the elevator—and along the corridor
to their rooms. There they stopped and turned to face each other.

“I’m glad most of your appointments went
well today,” he said.

“Yes, the day ended better than it began.”
She smiled up at him. Gosh, he was tall, probably because she wore flat
sandals. His jacket hung over his arm and he still looked crisp and fresh in
his white shirt. If she leaned close, she’d be able to smell his aftershave.
Instinctively, she knew he was a man who showered often, and who cared about
his appearance, without staring into the mirror every five minutes to check his
hair.

“You’re very yummy,” she said.

He gave a short laugh. “Thank you, I
think.”

“Oh, it’s definitely a compliment.”

“I see. This is what I’m to expect over the
next few months, is it?”

“Yes. As long as it won’t be misconstrued
as sexual harassment.”

His gaze caressed her face. “I promise it
won’t.”

“Good.” She held her breath. He stood only
a few inches away from her, and the look in his eyes had turned sultry, as if
he was thinking about kissing her. God, she wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t
care that he worked for her, she didn’t care about anything at that moment but
the yearning to feel his lips on hers. They’d be firm, and warm, and his tongue
would slip between her lips into her mouth, and she’d lean against him, and her
whole body would ache with desire.

“Goodnight, Callie,” he said, his voice
husky but filled with humor.

“’Night.” She swallowed hard and backed
away to her door.

“Sleep well.” He let himself in, and his
door closed.

Callie went into her room and sat on the
bed. It was only seven thirty, far too early to go to bed yet. She’d only been
joking when she’d mentioned going to a nightclub, although she did enjoy
dancing, but she wished they could have gone for a walk. She’d go later, she
decided, once the sun had started to set and it was a little cooler.

So she typed up the notes from her
meetings, studied a little from the portfolio she’d prepared for the businesses
in Oamaru, Timaru, and then Christchurch, and watched some TV.

At around eight, her mobile rang. She
picked it up and groaned when she saw her mother’s name on the screen. It was
tempting to switch it off and pretend she hadn’t heard it, but she sighed,
swiped the screen, and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Callie? It’s your mother.”

“Hi, Mum.”

“Where are you, darling?”

“In a hotel in Dunedin.”

“Oh, of course, you’re doing that tour.
How’s it going?”

Callie sat back against the pillows and
stretched out her legs. “Good. I had a couple of successful meetings. Three
shops have agreed to stock the Four Seasons brand.”

“That’s wonderful, darling, well done.”

Callie tried not to sigh. At least she’s
trying, she thought. It was difficult not to hear insincerity in her mother’s
voice, though.

“How about you?” she asked Phoebe. “How are
things going?”

“Busy,” Phoebe said. “I’m still at work.”

“Jeez, Mum. Aren’t you supposed to start
easing off when you get higher up the ladder?”

“Doesn’t seem to work that way.”

“How’s… everything else?”

Phoebe cleared her throat. “That’s just it.
I’ve had another threat.”

Callie looked out of the window. The color
was fading from the sea and the street lights were flicking on, casting yellow
circles onto the pavement. Two seagulls squabbled over a bag of chips left on a
bench. “Oh?”

“Yes. He wrote down everything I did today,
times I went out, places I’d been. It appears he—or someone—is watching me.”

Callie shivered. “Oh, that’s awful.”

“He seems very determined to scare us,
darling.”

“Well, we’re not going to let him, are we?”
Callie spoke with determination.

“No… But he mentioned you again. We have to
assume he’s serious.”

“I think he’s serious about wanting to
frighten us. I still can’t believe he’s really bothered about causing me harm.
What’s the point in that? I had nothing to do with the case.” It was an old
argument, and Callie had to fight not to throw the phone across the room.

“Okay.” For once, Phoebe didn’t argue back.
Maybe she was as tired of it all as her daughter was. “I just wanted you to know.
Be careful, won’t you?”

“Of course. You too.”

“How’s your new PA doing?”

“Fine,” Callie said. “He’s very efficient.
He’s getting me organized.”
And hot under the collar.

“That’s good. I’m glad he’s there to keep
an eye on you.”

Callie rolled her eyes. “I have to go now.”

“All right, darling. See you soon. Take
care.”

They said goodbye, and Callie hung up.

She stood and walked over to the window and
looked down at the ocean, which had turned a rusty color in the setting sun.
For most of Callie’s childhood, Phoebe’s career had dominated Callie’s every waking
moment. She’d walked in her mother’s shadow while Phoebe gained accolade after
accolade for her work, blazing a trail through the southern hemisphere like
some kind of superhero as she put away criminals, gangsters, and villains,
condemning them all to years behind bars without a second thought.

It wasn’t that Callie thought the people
her mother had sent to prison were innocent, but she couldn’t shake the feeling
that the arrogance with which she’d done it meant that somehow her pigeons were
coming home not only to roost but to move in and set up camp. Phoebe saw
herself as an avenging angel, as some kind of symbol of goodness, and yet all
Callie could remember of her youth was being unhappy—first being dragged from
post to post across the world when she was young, and then after her parents
divorced, sitting alone outside courtrooms, or alone at home, waiting for her
mother to grant her some snippet of her precious time. And it had come so
rarely. Phoebe had treated her daughter like a nuisance, like a dog she had to
go home to feed.

Callie didn’t wish her mother ill, and of
course she hoped Kirk would be caught soon and the threat of danger lifted. But
she wanted no part of the drama. At eighteen, when she’d gone to uni, she’d
stepped out of the center of the hurricane where she’d made her home for so
many years, put up with the buffeting winds as she fought her way out, and had
emerged in a more peaceful place of her own, where the world didn’t revolve
around her mother, where life suddenly had promise. The last thing she wanted
was to go back to that maelstrom.

Crossing to the bed, she pulled the strap
of her bag over her shoulder, slipped on her sandals, and left the room.

Most of the holidaymakers had left the
beaches now, and the tide was coming in, the sea sending white fingers up
toward the esplanade. Callie walked slowly along the sea front, letting the
warm evening breeze lift her hair around her shoulders, thinking about the
business, the appointments she’d had that day, and about Gene.

It wasn’t as if, after breaking up with
Jamie, she’d decided she wasn’t going to date again. He’d broken her heart, but
Callie had no intention of remaining a spinster for the rest of her life. But
she’d thought it would take a while before she felt interested in another man.
And then Gene had walked into her office, with his cufflinks and his firm jaw,
and it felt as if someone had thrown a handful of fairy dust over her.