A MAN CALLED BLUE (2 page)

Nance was at her shoulder immediately. "Can I get you anything, Miss Doucet?"

Nance knew exactly what to get her, but, proper employee that he was, he asked anyway. She didn't look at him when she answered, "Scotch, please."

He brought it immediately and she drank it quickly, then stifled a gag. She disliked alcohol, only drank it when she had to. Flying was a definite
had to.
When Nance started toward his seat in the rear of the craft, she called him back.

"When we're up, Nance, please tell Mr. Bludell to join me for lunch."

"Yes, ma'am."

Nance nodded and walked, hunched over, down the aisle. Simone tried to lose herself in an article on the long term effects of a U.S recession on the world economy; but when Kelly nudged the plane over a slight rise in the tarmac, and her stomach fell the equivalent of a 747's cruising altitude, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the burgundy leather seat. Every muscle in her body as rigid as her bones.

* * *

Blue watched Simone from under half-closed lids. From his vantage point, he saw only a partial profile, but he did see her down the scotch. One shot. No flinch. The woman must have brass innards and a copper-plumbed throat.

He hadn't yet got a good look at her. At the plane's hatch, with the sun behind her, he'd made out she was small and her hair was dark. That was about it—except for her voice, low and husky—and as commanding as a boot camp sergeant's. He guessed it came naturally. She was, after all, president of an international company and as rich as anyone had a right to be.

Anjana Enterprises, founded by her mother, Josephine, made a textbook case on how grit, hard work, and brains merged to forge business success. Josephine Doucet was a living legend. Today, Anjana's holdings were so vast Blue couldn't think of a business it wasn't invested in; hotels, cable networks, software firms, a string of exclusive spas. You name it. A year ago, Josephine pulled Simone from one of Anjana's smaller subsidiaries, a Washington furniture company, and made her corporate top dog. A big step up, and his friend Nolan had stepped up right along with her.

The woman a few feet in front of him moved her head. Her hair wasn't dark, he saw now; it was an inky, midnight ebony—and long. Past her shoulders, he guessed, if she ever let it out of that coiled thing at the back of her neck.

Nolan described her as vulnerable. The word implied defenseless, exposed. Uh-uh, he didn't think so. Simone Doucet was more an armadillo/porcupine cross. A tough seasoned hybrid. Vulnerable? No way. Obviously too many truffles and too much caviar had clouded the man's judgment.

"We're cleared for takeoff, ma'am," the pilot announced.

He saw her stiffen, saw her knuckles curl around the armrest. She stayed that way until they were airborne a few minutes later. Okay, so maybe the lady had one or two vulnerabilities after all. Not that he cared. Looking after female corporate sharks was Nole's job, and after meeting this one, he was glad of it. She wasn't Blue's type, as a boss or anything else.

He glanced again at her fingers, still curled over the armrest, but loosened now, and noticed how white her skin was, very nearly translucent. Probably soft—

He muscled that line of thinking aside, abruptly turning his attention to the window. Irritated again, he watched Seattle shrink, then spread as the plane gained altitude. A job, he reminded himself, that's all this is. A damned inconvenient job no matter how soft the woman's skin might be.

Nance tapped him on the shoulder. "Something to drink?"

"Sure, why not?" He checked his watch. One fifteen. "I'll have what the lady had."

"Sorry, no can do. Miss Doucet doesn't approve of her people drinking alcohol during working hours. Got coffee though."

"You're not kidding, are you?" Blue thought of the way she'd quaffed her scotch.

The big guy shrugged noncommittally.

"Anymore
rules
for us peons I should know about?"

He shook his head. "She kind of makes them up as she goes along. You'll get used to it, Mr. Bludell."

He didn't think so. "Blue. The name's Blue," he said.

"Blue, it is. You want that coffee or not?"

"Not. Thanks."

Nance trundled off down the aisle, and Blue put his head back and closed his eyes. He couldn't believe he was here, playing second fiddle to a dragon lady, a
tycoon
dragon lady. If he lost Moonlight Island because of this, Nolan Smythe would be gumming oatmeal the rest of his life.

He should have said no. Damn it, he should have.

You owe the guy, he reminded himself for the hundredth time. So quit griping. In two weeks Simone Doucet and Anjana Enterprises would be history. He closed his eyes. He'd handle it.

When the plane reached cruising altitude, Nance tapped him on the shoulder. "Miss Doucet wants you to join her up front."

He sucked in a breath. "Right." Pushing on the armrests, he lifted himself from the seat and trailed the now friendly giant down the aisle.

She nodded to the seat opposite herself and he took it. A table draped in white linen and set with pale pink china and sterling silver separated them. As Blue settled in, she snapped a linen napkin neatly across her lap and raised her eyes, meeting his directly for the first time. He thought fleetingly of two ships meeting in narrow straits.

Her eyes were gray. They were steel. They were as cold as exposed stone on the Rockies, and they heated his chest like a burning wind. The altitude, he told himself and settled deeper into his seat.

She lifted her fork. "So, I gather you're no more pleased with this arrangement than I am?"

"That's about it."

"You're only here because Nolan asked you to be?"

He nodded.

When he didn't volunteer anything further, she went on, her voice low, coolly pleasant. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is your relationship to Nolan?"

"We go back a way."

She prodded her salad, forked a shrimp, and held it to her mouth. "Explain," she stated, before popping the tiny decapod into her mouth. He watched her chew, then touch the napkin to the corners of her mouth. A lush mouth. Wide. Coral lips, maybe a shade darker than the shrimp she'd just eaten. He didn't like the constriction in his throat.

"Mr. Bludell?" She lifted her chin and tilted her head.

He'd been staring.

"We worked together," he said, too brusquely. If Doucet didn't already know
all
of Nolan's personal history, he wasn't about to fill in the gaps.

She studied him intensely. "And lived with him at one time. Right?"

"Uh-huh."

She looked so visibly relieved, he couldn't help smiling. He knew her thoughts—exactly. She nodded then and reached to her side. Pulling some pages from a file, she held them out to him.

"My agenda, Mr. Bludell. I'd like to review it with you. Other than our meetings with Gus Hallam regarding Hallam Porcelain, it's mostly public relations, touching bases with longtime suppliers, business associates, that sort of thing."

"Blue," he corrected, taking the papers from her hand.

"Pardon me?"

"Call me Blue."

She gave him a questioning look as though deliberating on the name's acceptability.

"Let's say one too many kids called me 'little Tommy Bluebell,'" he offered. One was enough. That smart mouth probably still had a thick lip. He caught the look of sympathy in her eyes, the hint of a smile.

"Of course," she said smoothly."It must have been difficult for you. Blue will be fine."

"Yeah." He forced a smile, knew it was thin, then turned his attention to the papers in his hand.

The London agenda was full, days packed with business meetings and nights crammed with social engagements. Many of which he was to attend. Inwardly groaning, he read on. A list of names accompanied each slotted engagement, both business and social. The name Gus Hallam appeared more than any other.

There were handwritten notes on the bottom of the last page. He couldn't make them out.

"And this?" He indicated the handwriting. "Bruges?" He stumbled over the pronunciation, giving it a hard ending to rhyme with rugs. Nolan hadn't mentioned this.

"It's in Belgium, and that's Bruges as in
Broozh,"
she corrected, making an oozy sound with her breath.

He hoped she'd say it again, liking the way her coral lips wrapped around the foreign phrasing.

She hesitated. "But it's not important, a business matter I've since canceled." Her gaze slid away from his, and she began eating, looking, for the first time since they met, ill at ease.

"Good. Because the way I count, this agenda already covers three weeks. Nolan said two. So two weeks it is. Not a day more. Sorry." He tossed the agenda on the table.

She put down her fork, laced her fingers, and rested her chin on them, her eyes again meeting his. "How unfortunate. And Nolan so enjoyed his work."

He stared at her, felt his jaw loosen. "Nolan Smythe has been your right hand for years, and you're telling me you'll fire him if I don't go the distance on this?" He picked up the agenda and dropped it again, watching her face as he did so. Her gray gaze left his briefly, came back narrower, chillier.

"I expect
you
to do what you're told. As Nolan's replacement, he's responsible for you. So if you don't perform—to acceptable standards—he's out of a job." She unlaced her fingers and picked up her fork. Her hand trembled slightly. "Clear enough?"

Blue leaned back in his seat and weighed his options. It wasn't easy to look at her delicate beauty and accept that under such creamy skin beat the heart of a terminator. If it were only his neck at risk, he'd call her bluff.

Challenge tensed his gut, and for the first time since this charade began, his interest was aroused—and not in the job. Three weeks with this tiny tycoon could prove entertaining—if he didn't lose Moonlight Island in the process. Big if.

He pulled off his sunglasses and leaned forward. "Maybe I should repeat your instructions, Miss Doucet. Make sure I understand. You need me to
perform
on demand. Have I got that right?" He let the double meaning stand.

Did she blink? No. He imagined it. This lady did not blink. She simply arched a brow and gave him a challenging gaze of her own."Other than financial analysis, what I need is someone to follow me around, take notes, and keep unwanted people at bay."

"Have you thought about getting a dog?"

"I would if they could take notes," she said sweetly. "In the meantime, you'll have to do. Any more questions?"

"Just one. Why none for me? You're putting a lot of trust in Smythe's word and a crumpled note. Somehow I doubt you're a woman with an excess of that commodity."

"You're right, I'm not. But enough to accept Nolan's recommendation until I can check you out for myself. But before we land at Heathrow, I'll know all I need to know, down to the color of your underwear."

"Kinky." He leaned back in the seat.

She gave him an icy glance. "No. Careful."

"And if my underwear isn't acceptable?" he asked.

"Then I hope you can swim."

He smiled. "What, no cab fare home?"

"Afraid not." She went back to her salad. When he didn't say anything more, she gestured with her chin toward his untouched plate. "You're not eating."

He pushed it aside. "I'm more of a red meat man myself."

"In that case, we're done. I have background material on the trip in my briefcase. When I'm finished lunch, I'll have Nance give it to you. Pay particular attention to the Hallam Industries file. It involves a porcelain factory that's for sale. Anjana's interested in buying,
if
it's a good deal." That said, she turned her attention to her salad.

Aware of his dismissal, Blue watched her. The lady worked overtime in the control department. He wondered why.

She raised her eyes and gave him an irritated glance. "You can go now, Blue."

He stood and looked down at her. "Got a parachute?"

"Very amusing, but don't push your luck. My patience, like my trust, is limited. It's simple really. Do as you're asked and we'll get along fine."

He shook his head. "Lady, somehow I doubt that."

Back in his seat, Blue spent the next few minutes alternately cursing himself and Nolan.
Twenty-one days with this woman? Inconceivable!
If Nolan had his job after day one, he'd be lucky. Blue wasn't good at taking orders or keeping his mouth shut. And there was something else. Damned if he wasn't attracted to her on some basic level, but he sure as hell didn't like her much.

* * *

Simone didn't like him.

If he weren't
a friend
of Nolan's, she'd give him that parachute he'd asked for and personally escort him to an open hatch. She felt his eyes on her now. Refusing to take further notice of him, she concentrated on her salad. The minute he shifted his attention to the window, her chest contracted and a quiet breath crossed her lips.

Blue.
What a stupid name!
It probably had nothing to do with his being called "bluebell" and everything to do with the color of his eyes, a brilliant, intimidating cobalt. She hated them. Hated the way they probed, questioned without words. Those eyes made it difficult for her to remember what was most likely a
special
friendship with Nolan. At least he wasn't a talker.