A Perfect Match: (Raining Romance Series) (2 page)

She was momentarily taken aback by his rudeness.  Bree’s earlier warning filled her ears.
Whatever you do, don’t piss him off.
 

Jaslyn knew it was best to obey him, but she simply couldn’t let his remark pass.  She offered him a smile warm enough to melt an Alaskan Glacier.  “Everyone’s name is important, Mr. Birkner.  Did you know there’s an old proverb that says, ‘A good name is more desirable than great riches’?”

“That is a stupid proverb,” he barked.  His heavy German accent lent a sensuality to his voice despite his obvious irritation.  “I can think of at least two things more desirable than great riches.”  His gaze moved to her breasts.  “A name is not one of them.”

The heat of attraction glazing his eyes made her blush profusely.  She wished there was a way to hide the effect he was having on her, to slow her erratic breathing, to stop her now hardened nipples from straining against the fabric of her blouse.

Oh, she was doing a bang-up job so far. 

She hadn’t taken Bree’s advice, she had been embarrassingly clumsy and, thus far, her Pollyanna-like attitude wasn’t scoring any bonus points with the boss.  Still, she wouldn’t quail her personality for anybody.  She was quite capable of following Mr. Birkner’s orders whilst chipping away at his tough exterior.  Jaslyn was positive that hidden deep underneath all the man’s scowling and growling, there was a happy-go-lucky optimist just waiting to spring forth.

Determined to draw his attention away from her feminine assets and back onto work, she said, “You’re right.  Names are overrated.  Productivity is the important thing here.  What would you like for me to do first?”

He cocked a thick, dark eyebrow.  “Are you any good at taking
dic
tation?”

The warmth in her face spread farther south. Accent or not, his emphasis was clear.  The blatant innuendo made her feel braver than it should have. “The best you’ve seen,” she said, winking and taking the utmost pleasure in the tinge of color now spreading across
his
cheeks.  “If you’ll just hand me a pad and pen, I’ll show you.”

She swallowed hard when his expression grew dark.  He slammed his fist down on his desk. His words came out in a growl.  “You ill-prepared twit!” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.  “Does this office look like a supply closet to you?”

Jaslyn was speechless.  One second the hot-blooded Mr. Birkner seemed approachable and flirty, the next distant and combative.  And possibly insane. 

“Answer me, damn it!”

She sat unblinking, staring as he towered over her.  Silently she watched him snatch up the phone receiver from its cradle and punch the button marked intercom.  He snapped, “My office. Now.”

In just a matter of seconds, a short man with a slight build flung open the door.  He didn’t seem to notice Jaslyn.  All of his attention was focused on the angry man behind the desk.  “What’s wrong, Rhein? Did the hospital call? Is Sahara worse?”

His blustery movements and the intense concern in his voice tugged at Jaslyn’s heart strings.  A jolt of empathy prompted her to speak.

“Is she the one I’m replacing?”

Based on Birkner’s reaction, one would have thought she had asked him to murder his mother.

His icy words, ground out between gritted teeth, turned her blood cold.  “Replace Sahara? No one can ever fucking replace her!”

Jaslyn couldn’t suppress a shiver.  “I—I only meant—”

“Michael, get her out of here.  Call those idiots at the temp agency, and tell them to send someone else.”

Jaslyn attempted to stand, but Michael held up his hand.  “Please, stay seated.”

He turned his attention to the fuming CEO, placing a hand on his shoulder.  She observed the comforting gesture, deducing they were friends as well as colleagues.  “There’s no one else to send, Rhein.  You’ve blown through every temp agency in the area in the last two weeks, rejecting fourteen different temps.  Jaslyn Scarpa is your last hope.  She is the only available administrative assistant qualified to fill in for Sahara.  It’s in the best interest of the company that you make an effort to work with her.”

The CEO visibly exhaled, raking his fingers through his hair.  “I cannot do it, Michael.”

“Why not?”

“For starters, her sunshiny disposition is distasteful to my current frame of mind.  She is ill-prepared, coming in here without pen or paper or even a laptop. How am I to dictate a letter when she has nothing to take dictation with?  And she talks back, spouting off ridiculous proverbs and saying she is here to replace Sahara.  She is not a good fit for me or my company.”

Jaslyn bit the inside of her cheek but couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out.  “
She
has a name, albeit unimportant.”

Michael furrowed his brow at his boss.  Confusion played across his face.  “What the hell’s going on here? Why wouldn’t her name be important?”

Rhein shook his head.  “Do you see what I mean?  More back talk.  Insolence.  Insubordination.  I will not have it.”  He turned on his heel.  “I need coffee.  When I get back, she better be gone.”

Again, Jaslyn started to stand.  Again, Michael motioned for her to sit back down.

“Miss Scarpa, you’ll have to excuse Rhein’s—Mr. Birkner’s behavior.  He’s under a great deal of stress at the moment.”

She nodded.  “I assume much of it has to do with Sahara.  I noticed the flashes of pain in his eyes when you mentioned her.”

“Yes, she’s very ill.”

“I figured as much.  Most of my assignments involve covering for those on medical leave.  Beth at Woman-Power said this job was to last six weeks.  Is that still the case?”

“No.  There’s a very real possibility your assignment could be indefinite.  Without a miracle, Sahara will die.  Soon.”

Jaslyn gasped.  “Oh.  I’m so sorry.  No wonder Mr. Birkner is so upset.  Has she been his employee for very long?”

A sad smile formed at the corners of his mouth.  “She’s not just an employee.  She wears many hats, only one of which is administrative assistant.  Sahara Birkner holds fifty-percent ownership of Zena Starkler and one-hundred percent of Rhein’s heart.”

Jaslyn’s shoulders slumped under the weight of his words.  Her emotions were all jumbled. Her heart was breaking for the CEO and, selfishly for herself.  Earlier, for a few brief moments, she had been positive he was flirting with her.  Had she been so desperate as to imagine his eyes adoring her breasts and the heated inflections of his voice?

That was likely the case.  If the woman he loved was dying, he certainly wouldn’t be engaging in unseemly behavior.  It was all in Jaslyn’s head. Wishful thinking for sure.  She hadn’t been on a date in over two years, not since her breakup with Eric.  The two-timing asshole had really worked a number on her.  Even though she hadn’t let the incident make her bitter, it had made her a tad more distrustful.

Forcing herself to focus on the present, she said, “I understand.  If Mr. Birkner is willing to give me another chance, I’ll do my very best for him and this company.”

“Thank you, Miss Scarpa,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief.  “In addition to the temp agency’s fee, I’m going to have Human Resources invoice an additional bonus.  It will be paid to you personally.”

“You don’t have to do that.  My regular pay will be enough.”

“No. It won’t.  Trust me.  Now I must have a word with Bree.  I want to make sure your work station is set up, your laptop is booted up and you have a healthy supply of pens and pads at your disposal,” he said, winking.  “While I take care of those things, why don’t you take a break?  Have yourself a beverage and a snack.”

RHEIN RUBBED THE BACK of his neck.  His muscles stayed bunched in clumps of perpetual knots.  He no longer knew the meaning of relaxation.  His body was constantly coiled, ready to strike.  Every minute Sahara lay in a hospital bed, hooked to a dialysis machine, was one more minute he couldn’t breathe.  In his book, money could buy a lot of things, even happiness.  What it couldn’t buy was a six-antigen match—the HLA tissue typing needed for one fucking kidney.  The one that could keep the most important woman in the world alive and a part of his life.

Sahara had been on a transplant waiting list for nearly three years, and still no compatible kidney had been found.  He was at the end of his hope-rope.  On top of everything else, the last thing he needed was a beaming cheerleader, shaking her pom-poms in his face.  Where did these temp agencies find their employees these days? At Chuckie Cheese? What happened to the administrative assistants of old? The no-nonsense, glasses-hanging-around-the-neck-on-a-lanyard, hairbun-knotted-at-the-nape-of-the-neck secretaries? That’s what he needed. That and another cup of coffee.

Gulping the hot liquid, he relished the scalding, burning sensation on his tongue and in his throat.  These days he actively looked for ways to reroute the pain from his heart.  He couldn’t imagine life without his sister, Sahara.  She was the only family he had left. She was the reason he started this company.  The reason they left Berlin, Germany for a shot at the American Dream.  The reason he got up in the morning.  The reason he did
anything
.

Setting his cup down on a saucer, he slowly turned around, sensing the temp before he saw her.  Taking her in, he couldn’t help but notice how the long, silky hair adorning her pretty, oval face had come loose from its pink ribbon.  Now it cascaded like a river over her slender shoulders.  The thick wavy strands were so black, they were almost blue.  He had only seen that particular shade one other time—in the mirror.  He hadn’t thought much about it before. But now, he longed to weave his fingers through it.  To grip those lovely locks in his fists.  To force her head back and kiss her breathless. 

Back in his office, it was her full, rose-colored lips, her perky breasts with their pebbled nipples straining against a form-fitting pink blouse that had distracted him to the point of madness.

He watched her step inside the breakroom, noting the fidgeting of her fingers.  She was twisting them in the fabric of her hip-hugging pencil skirt.  A very flattering cut that accentuated her long, shapely legs.  He wondered if they were weak and trembling as she pressed her low back against the countertop, visibly resting her weight there.  “Miss Scarpa, you are still here.  I can see I need to fire Michael.”

“I can see you remembered my name,” she said, daring to smile at him.

Hardness glinted his eyes.  “Yes,
Jaslyn
. Yours is not one I will likely forget.  It is a very important name, or so Michael seems to think.”

His tone was mocking her, but he could see she wasn’t going to take the bait.

“Speaking of Michael, please don’t fire him.  I apologize for being blunt, but I know you need me.  He told me about Sahara.  I’m happy to help you in any way I can.”

He stepped in front of her, leaving no room for her to move.  He was so close his chest lightly brushed her breasts.  Placing his palms on the counter on either side of her, he lowered his head to her neck and inhaled deeply.  He whispered in her ear, “It is my turn to sniff you.  Hmmm, you smell like green apples and rain.”

She stammered, “It—it’s my shampoo.”

“I beg to differ.”  His lips softly grazed the column of her throat.  “I think it is you.  Your creamy skin.  Your warm breath.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.  “Michael is wrong.  I do not need you.” Pressing his body hard against hers, he reached around behind them and grabbed something off the countertop.  Showing it to her, he said, “All I need are these and another cup of coffee.”

The candy dish was swallowed up by his huge hand.  It was filled with lovely German Chocolate truffles.

The expression on her face thrilled him.  He could almost see her mouth water.  The sweet, rich aroma of the decadent candy infused the air.  He held the dish in one hand and reached for his coffee with the other.  He offered her the cup.  “Drink,” he commanded.

He felt her hand shake when his fingers brushed hers, his lower body still pinning her to the counter. 

The second the strongly-brewed, hot liquid touched her tongue, she spewed it out all over his chest, soaking the front of his suit.

“Yuck! Why would anyone drink something so vile and bitter?”

He glanced down at his coffee-covered clothes.  For an instant, he felt rage mixed with lingering desire.  Instead of bellowing and ranting, he spoke as softly as a feather floating on a breeze.  “So they can eat this.”  Carefully, he chose a piece of chocolate and gently smeared its silky, smoothness across her bottom lip.  The heat from the coffee had warmed her mouth, causing the candy to melt on contact.

He sucked in a sharp breath when her tongue darted out to lick away the sweetness.  With her lips parted, he pushed the remaining piece into her mouth.  A bolt of electricity shot through his cock when she closed her lips around his finger.

“Oh God, Mr. Birkner, this is the best chocolate I’ve ever tasted,” she moaned, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back.

Impulsively, he placed his hand behind her neck, supporting and cradling it while she ate.  The look on her face was utterly orgasmic.  He knew it was ridiculous for a man to be jealous of a piece of candy.  But, at that moment, he was. 
He
wanted to be the reason she moaned and licked her lips in pleasure.