A MAN CALLED BLUE (7 page)

"Why, Simone?" he asked, his voice low and demanding. "You scarcely know me."

Chapter 4

Struggling for the upper hand, and control of her unruly nerves, Simone calmed herself and answered. "It's not complicated. You're good at your work, have the experience I need, and Nolan recommended you. Isn't that reason enough?" She hoped the words came out strong and direct.

"Anjana's a big organization, there must be a hundred ambitious whiz kids with computers who could do this job with their eyes closed. I repeat—why me?"

She tugged away from his grip, turned her back to him, and walked four safe steps away. He'd asked a question that, if answered, would lay bare a cache of insecurities she chose neither to name nor acknowledge. Maybe she was held together by bailing wire, but a smart woman didn't display her weaknesses and needs to men—the sex most likely to trample them on their way to the quickest exit. And Blue defined the word man.

Too much man,
she thought, unable to deny his easy sexuality, or the primal undertow she found harder and harder to fight. She didn't have the energy for another battle.
Battle?
She came near to laughing aloud. Controlling Anjana may be a battle, and Josephine a trial, but Blue? Blue, to any woman in her right mind, shouted opportunity—hot and golden.

She cut off that pointless line of thought. Blue was waiting for an answer, so she'd give him one. According to Josephine, business was about winning, and winning at the moment meant Blue staying—and not trotting out her personal ghosts and goblins to make him do it.

She leaned against the pale yellow silk of the sofa, forced herself to calm. His hands were planted on his hips; much as they'd been when she'd first seen him standing on the tarmac outside her plane, a hank of hair covered half his forehead and shadowed the rest. His detective eyes, as she'd come to think of them, were also in shadow, their vivid blue lost in the night-shaded room.

She took a steadying breath. "Okay, I'll level with you. I'm uncertain about this Hallam business. And you're right. There's no shortage of computer cowboys and bean counters in Anjana, but this project is—" She stopped, uncertain how to express herself, not wanting to explain her relationship with Josephine. How could she when she didn't understand it herself?

Blue waited a moment, then picked up the slack. "Your baby," he stated, cocking his head and studying her. "Your
first
baby?"

She nodded. "Josephine is leaving this entirely in my hands. The financial analysis is critical, but..."

"But?"

"I don't think it's everything." She felt muddled, unable to explain her anxiety in concrete terms and vaguely guilty because she couldn't. She was so tired.

"You're right. It's not. Particularly when you're dealing with a Gus Hallam."

"You know him?"

"A thousand of him."

"And you don't trust him?"

"Do you?" he shot back.

She hesitated. "No. No, I don't." She knew it shouldn't matter. Josephine believed that if you only did business with people you trusted, no business would get done. Simone was uncomfortable with that, had no taste for pawing through people's motives, lifting them like scales to expose hidden agendas, then manipulating them for profit.

"Then chalk up some points for your instincts. If this was my baby, I'd be poking at it with a mighty long stick."

She straightened away from the sofa. "Then help me, Blue. I need someone who'll... keep things quiet. Stay. I'd like you to work with me on this." She ventured a brief smile."Please."

Blue knew he was being had, but couldn't do a thing about it. One tiny smile, a few soft words, and he was a goner. She looked exhausted, worn out by jet lag and a long evening. He'd started out wanting a level playing field, what he got was mushy ground somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

She held out her hand. "Three weeks, that's all I'm asking. For me and for Nolan."

Blue frowned, not missing the hint about his promise to Nolan. He looked at her outstretched hand, so small and soft. The silk of a web. Once he connected with it, what then? Oddly indecisive, he rubbed at his beard-roughened jaw, then looked into the searching eyes of the woman holding that hand out to him. Her smile was gone, replaced by a look at once earnest and uneasy as she waited for his answer.

You're a damned fool, Bludell.

He took her hand, expecting the hard practiced executive handshake. Women, he'd noticed, were getting good at cracking hand bones when they shook these days. Not Simone. Her grip was firm but feminine, her hand delicately structured and surprisingly cool. His own warmed as it closed over hers.

"Three weeks," he agreed. "But I do it my way."

She cocked her head, showing a hint of suspicion. "Should that last remark worry me?"

"That depends on how much you like to worry."

She appeared to consider his cryptic answer, then smiled again, a tentative tilt of her lips that yanked hard on the deeply buried cord linking his chest and another anatomical region too personal to mention, and while he didn't like the idea of any strings at all, the feeling intrigued him.

"Thank you," she said, carefully pulling her hand from his. "Nolan will be pleased."

"I'm not doing this for Nolan."

He could see her tense. "Why are you doing it?"

"Aside from the fact a beautiful woman
asked
me to, I'm not sure—yet. Maybe it's the opportunity for advancement."

"Opportunity?"

"I figure if I do a good enough job, I'll get to move up the corporate ladder." He took a step toward her and watched her grip tighten on the back of the sofa. He took another step, and she straightened to face him, now a wary doe. He touched her cheek, traced his index finger along her jaw to the fullness of her lower lip, then stopped. "And the way I see it, that ladder will take me straight to the top." He brushed a kiss across her lips, forcing himself to hold the line. "I think I'd like the view."

He moved away. "I usually start at six-thirty, but jet lag takes a toll, so let's say eight. I hope that's not too early for you."

Breathless, Simone watched him saunter from the room. If what went on between them tonight was about winning and losing, the first point was definitely Blue's. Carefully, assessingly, she touched her lips. Blue's butterfly kiss lingered. She hadn't imagined it.

* * *

"...Nine o'clock. Your coffee is..."

Simone roused herself to half-awake, before burrowing back under the covers to avoid the voice dragging her into the day.

Nine o'clock!

She bolted upright as Mrs. Dreiser pulled back the drapes to let the morning in, a very bright morning. She squinted against the glare.

"What time did you say it was?" she asked, hoping she'd heard wrong, knowing she hadn't.

Mrs. Dreiser turned toward the bed, purposeful steps taking her generous figure to the bureau where she'd temporarily set a tray bearing coffee, toast, and half a grapefruit.

"Six minutes to nine, madam," she said, placing the tray across Simone's knees.

"Mrs. Dreiser, I told you to wake me at seven." Simone's voice was sharper than intended. She handed the tray back and put both feet on the floor.

"I intended to, but the gentleman said to let you sleep. He informed me you weren't feeling well." Mrs. Dreiser stood holding the tray, looking seriously aggrieved.

"And what gentleman would that be?"

"Mr. Bluebell."

"That's
Bludell,
Mrs. Dreiser, and where would the, uh, gentleman be at this moment."

"He's in the library with Mrs. Doucet."

"Josephine Doucet! My mother?" she asked stupidly.

Mrs. Dreiser, stolid to the last, didn't see fit to remind her there was, to her knowledge, only one
Mrs.
Doucet. She sniffed instead.

Simone stood so abruptly, her head spun.
What in heaven's name was Josephine doing here at this hour?
She would expect Simone to be up, of course. A wave of guilt swept over her, followed by a coil of anxiety.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dreiser. It's not your fault. Please, leave the tray, and tell Mrs. Doucet and Mr. Bludell I'll be right down."

Mrs. Dreiser nodded regally and left the room. Simone had inherited the Dreisers when she'd bought the house last year. They were unfailingly correct, competent, quiet as ghosts, and as much a part of her Eaton Square home as the faded carpets, carved moldings, and the Sargent's canvas in the upstairs hall.

The closet yielded a gray skirt and matching blouse. Simone tossed them on the unmade bed, took a quick gulp of coffee, and headed for the shower.

Twenty minutes later, damp hair pulled into a severe twist at her nape, she opened the library door. Josephine sat behind her desk; Blue lounged in a chair directly facing her. Simone couldn't imagine what they'd found to talk about.
Three deep breaths, Simone. Take three deep, deep breaths.
She walked into the room.

Blue stood immediately. He was wearing chinos and a red Polo shirt bright enough to jam a light meter. She'd bet he was sans socks. It's a wonder Josephine hadn't eaten him alive. Every person in Anjana knew its founder didn't have a casual bone in her body.

Josephine also rose and, moving from behind the desk, she walked toward Simone with her hands extended. "Darling, how are you? Blue tells me you're not well. Was it something you ate? Should I call Claridges and complain?"

"I'm fine. Just fine." Simone pulled her hands from her mother's and walked toward her desk to pour herself a cup of coffee. From this vantage point, braced against the desk, she faced Josephine and Blue. When she managed to ignore the blaze that was Blue's shirt, she focused on Josephine. "I didn't expect you this morning."

Josephine lifted a hand, the gesture casually dismissive. "I was passing by and thought it would be a good time to get better acquainted with your new man."

Simone sipped her coffee. "A spontaneous gesture? Unlike you, Josephine," she said coolly.

Josephine reached for her handbag. "Yes, and it's made me late for a meeting." She looked at Blue, then Simone. "It
appears
you've made a good choice, Simone. But while Blue's certainly qualified, be careful—very careful—he doesn't become a distraction."

She feathered a kiss on Simone's cheek and sailed out of the room, her parting words creating a vacuum that quickly filled with oppressive silence. Blue came up beside Simone and quietly refilled his coffee cup while her face burned with anger and embarrassment. Duplicating her posture, he leaned against the desk and sipped his coffee.

"Your mother—" he started.

"Never mind."

He compressed his lips and nodded slowly.

Simone turned and put her cup and saucer on the desk. She didn't want to explain her mother to Blue or any other man. How could she? When her own feelings were a confused mixture of frustration and gratitude. "Let's get to work," she said, stepping briskly behind her desk and taking her chair.

Blue's eyes rested on her like weights.

She pushed a file aside and picked up a sheet of paper. "When I'm in London," she advised matter-of-factly. "I use Anderson's Executive Support services. You'll find them efficient. And I assume you'll require a computer and spreadsheet software. Tell me what you'd like, and I'll have it delivered this afternoon." She handed him the sheet of paper containing names and addresses. "Oh, and I'll be drawing up a short contract to confirm last night's discussion. I'd appreciate it if you'd sign and return it to me as quickly as possible. I would also—"

"A
contract?
For twenty-one days?"

"I want our agreement clearly understood this time. Putting it in writing will ensure that," she stated, hoping she sounded properly authoritative. She also hoped to gain back the upper hand, a hand she'd lost last night. Blue's shadow of a kiss had stayed with her far too long.

A grin played across his mouth. "It's a waste of trees, but if it's what you want..."

"It's what I want," she stated emphatically.

His grin widened.
Infuriating man.
She dropped her gaze to her desk and flicked a page on her large diary.