Affair with the Rebel Heiress (2010) (3 page)

Something was up with Kitty and he intended to find out what it was.

Kitty watched Marty leave the conference room, fighting the urge to scream. An image flashed through her mind of herself wild-eyed and disheveled, pulling at her hair and shouting "Deserter! Traitor!" like some
mad Confederate general about to charge into battle and to his death, all alone after his men have seen reason and fled the field.

Clearly, she'd been watching too many old movies.

Obviously her time would have been better spent practicing her mental telepathy. Then she could have ordered Marty to stay. As it was, she couldn't protest without Ford realizing how much the prospect of being alone with him terrified her.

The moment the door shut, leaving them alone in the room, he crossed to her side. "Hello, Kitty."

She stood, nodding. Praying some response would spring to her lips. Something smart. Clever. Something that would cut him to the bone without seeming defensive.

Sadly nothing came to mind. So she left it at the nod.

"You look..." Then he hesitated, apparently unsure which adjective best described her.

"I believe 'well' is usually how one finishes that sentence." Oh, God. Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut?

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Well, you seem to be having trouble finishing the sentence," she supplied. "Since I'm sure I look just fine and since I'd much rather get this over with than stand around exchanging pleasantries, I thought I'd move things along."

He raised his eyebrows as if taken aback by her tone. "You aren't curious why I'm here?"

That teasing tone stirred memories best left buried
in the recesses of her mind. Unfortunately, those pesky memories rose up to swallow her whole, like a tsunami.

As if it were yesterday instead of two months or more, she remembered what it had felt like to be held in his arms. Cradled close to his body as they swayed gently back and forth on the dance floor. The way he'd smelled, musky yet clean against the sensory backdrop of stale smoke and spilled beer. The way her body had thrummed to life beneath his touch. The way she'd quivered. The way she'd come.

She thrust aside the memories, praying he wouldn't notice that her breath had quickened. Thankful he couldn't hear the pounding of her heart or see the hardening of her nipples.

Hiding her discomfort behind a display of boredom, she toyed with the papers on the table where she'd been sitting. She couldn't stand to look at him, so she pretended to read through them as she said, "I know why you're here. You came here to take control of Biedermann's." Thank God her voice didn't crack as she spoke. It felt as if her heart did, but that at least she could hide. For the first time since he walked into the room, she met his gaze. "You can't honestly expect me to welcome you. You're stealing the company I was born to raise."

His expression hardened. "I'm not stealing anything. FMJ is providing your failing company with some much-needed cash. We're here to keep you in business."

"Oh, really. How generous of you." She buried all her trepidation beneath a veneer of sarcasm. As she
always did. It was so much easier that way. "Since that's the case, why don't you just write out a nice hefty check and leave it on the table on your way out. I'll call you in a decade or so to let you know if it helped."

"A big, fat check might help if all you needed was an infusion of cash. But the truth is, Biedermann's needs a firm hand at the helm and you can't have one without the other. You know that's not how this works."

His words might have been easier to swallow if he'd sounded apologetic instead of annoyed. No, wait...there wasn't really any way that anything he said could be easier to swallow.

"No. Of course that's not how it works. You'll go over the company with a fine-toothed comb. You'll tear it apart, throw out the parts you don't like and hand the rest back in pieces. In the end, everything my family's worked for for five generations will be gone. All so you can turn a quick profit."

"Tell me something. Is that really what's bothering you?"

Of course it wasn't what was really bothering her. What was really bothering her was that he was here at all. Her safe, what-the-hell-I'm-stuck-in-Texas fling hadn't stayed where it was supposed to. In Texas. What was the point of having a fling with a stranger if the man ended up not being a stranger at all?

But she couldn't say that aloud. Especially given the way he was looking at her. With his expression so intense, so sexual, so completely unprofessional, it sent a wave of pure shock through her system.

"W-what do you mean?"

"Come on, Kitty. This anger you're clinging to isn't about Biedermann's at all. This is about what happened in Texas."

She quickly buried her shock beneath a veneer of disdain. "Texas. I'm surprised you'd have the guts to bring that up."

"You are?"

"Of course." She strolled to the other side of the conference table. "I'd think you would be the last person to want to hash that over. But since you brought it up, maybe you can answer a question for me. Was anything you told me true or was it all pretense?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know. That whole charade you put on to pick me up back in Texas. That aw-shucks, I'm just a simple cowboy trying to make a living act."

"I never said I was a cowboy."

"No. But you had to know that's what I thought."

"How exactly was I supposed to know that?" His facade of easy charm slipped for a moment and he plowed a hand through his hair in frustration. He sucked in a breath and pointed out in a slightly calmer tone, "You weren't exactly forthcoming about who you were, either."

"I did nothing wrong." True, she hadn't exactly presented him with her pedigree when they'd first met, but surely it didn't take a genius to see she didn't fit in at that bar. If there had been an obvious clue he didn't, either, she'd missed it entirely. She refused to let him
paint himself the victim. "I don't have anything to apologize for. I'm not the one who pretended to be some down on his luck cowboy."

"No, you're just the one who gave me a fake phone number instead of admitting you didn't want to see me again."

"If you knew I didn't want to see you again," she asked, "then why did you go to the trouble of hunting me down?"

"I didn't hunt you down. What happened in Texas has nothing to do with FMJ's offer."

"Then how exactly did the offer come about anyway?" she asked. "If you didn't go back to work and say, 'Wow, that Kitty Biedermann must be really dumb to have fallen for my tired old lines. I bet we could just swoop in and buy that company right from under her.'"

His gaze narrowed to a glare. "You know that's not how it happened."

"Really? How would I know that? What do I really know about you other than the fact that you're willing to misrepresent yourself to get a woman into bed with you?"

"I never lied to you. Not once. And despite the fact that you're acting like a brat, I won't start now."

"Maybe you didn't lie outright, but you certainly misled me. Of course, maybe that's the only way you can get a woman into bed."

Ford just smiled. "You don't believe that. The sex
was great." He closed in on her, getting right in her face as if daring her to disagree.

God, she wanted to. That would serve him right.

But when she opened her mouth, she found the denial trapped inside her. Between the intensity of his eyes and the memories suddenly flooding her, she just couldn't muster up the lie.

Instead she said the only thing that popped into her mind. "You can't convince me that FMJ is prepared to buy Biedermann's solely so you can get laid."

He grinned wolfishly. "Boy, you think highly of yourself."

"You were the one who brought up sex," she pointed out.

"You didn't let me finish. I was going to close with the suggestion that we both try to forget it happened."

"Oh, I won't have any trouble with that," she lied easily, barely even cringing as she waited for the bolt of lightning to strike her down.

"Excellent." He bit off the word. "Then you agree from here on out, it's all business?"

"Absolutely." Her smiled felt so tight across her face she was surprised she could still breathe. But she kept it in place as she crossed back to the door.

Jonathon and Marty were waiting in the office outside the conference room. If they'd picked up on the tension, neither commented. Thank goodness. She simply wouldn't have had the strength to come up with any more lies today. Between the lies she'd told Ford and the lies she was telling herself, she was completely out.

"Everything okay?" Jonathon asked, more to Ford than to her.

However, she didn't give the treacherous bastard a chance to answer. Instead, she dug deep and pulled out one more lie. "Mr. Langley was just assuring me Biedermann's is going to be in great hands with you." She held out her hand to gesture him back into the conference room. "Why don't you come in and we'll talk money."

Kitty's head was pounding by the time she finally made it back to her office alone. The simple truth was nothing could have prepared her for this.

She thought she'd been ready, but she hadn't, really. Not to sit in a conference room and listen politely while strangers discussed her beloved Biedermann's--while they calmly talked about compensation packages. While they talked about key positions in the company they'd need to replace.

Oh, they'd started by reassuring her that she would stay on as president of the subsidiary, but she knew she wouldn't have control. Not really. She'd be a figurehead, at best. A pretty adornment to make things look good. It'd be pathetic if it wasn't so sad. But the really pathetic thing was she would let herself be used that way.

She loved Biedermann's. She'd do whatever it took to save it. Even if she had to sell her soul to the devil. Or in this case, Ford Langley.

I
f she thought her day couldn't get any worse, she was wrong. She ran into Ford in the elevator bay.

"Fantastic," she muttered as she punched the elevator button. "Thousands of people work in this building and I get to ride down with you."

"I waited for you."

"How kind." She didn't bother to meet his gaze or to inject any real graciousness in her voice. She certainly hoped he wasn't so dense that he couldn't hear her sarcasm.

"I wanted to apologize." He seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth.

Well, she certainly wasn't going to make this any easier for him. "For your behavior earlier?" she asked
as the elevator doors began to open. She prayed there'd be someone else in the car with them, but her prayers went unanswered. Which was the norm of late. "Don't worry. I didn't expect better behavior from you. After all, I know what Californians are like."

It was a twist of something he'd said to her at that bar in Texas, when he'd teased her about being a Yankee. His gaze flickered to hers and for a second they seemed to both be remembering that night.

Damn it, why had she brought that up? She didn't want to remind him about that. She certainly didn't want him to think she remembered that night with anything approaching word for word accuracy.

"What I meant," he said, following her into the elevator, "was that the meeting seemed hard for you. I can't imagine it's easy to sell a company that's been in your family for generations."

She shot him a scathing look. "Please don't tax your mental capacity trying to imagine it."

The doors closed, sealing them inside. For a moment he thought she'd say nothing more, just ride with him in silence. Maybe this was it. Maybe she really was as cool a number as she'd seemed in the boardroom. Maybe selling her family company meant nothing more to her than-—

Then abruptly she let loose a bitter laugh.

Okay, maybe not.

"You want to know the really funny thing?" she asked as she punched the 1 button. "This is exactly what I was raised to do."

"Run Biedermann's?" he asked.

"Oh, God, no. Don't get me wrong. My father adored me. Treated me like an absolute princess. But he never thought I was capable of running Biedermann's. I was supposed to transform myself into the perfect wife. I was supposed to catch myself a rich husband to run Biedermann's for me."

She slanted him a look as if to assess his reaction. Her tongue darted out to slip along her lower lip and his body tightened in response. He was not supposed to want her. This was about business. Not sex. Now, if only his body would get that memo.

Apparently she'd gotten it though, because she continued on as if the energy between them wasn't charged with the memory of soul-scalding sex.

She shook her head wryly. "His attitude was archaic, but there you have it."

"So you decided to prove him wrong," he surmised.

"No, I didn't even do that. I really tried to marry the perfect man to take over Biedermann's. I had him all picked out. Even got him to propose." When the elevator doors didn't shut fast enough for her liking she started punching the close button repeatedly. "He just decided to marry someone else instead. I won't bore you with the details of my love life. Not when they're available online in several different gossip columns."

The elevator started to drop and again she laughed.

"See, that's the funny part, right? Flash-forward a year. I've made a complete mess running Biedermann's, just like my father predicted. You swoop in to
rescue the company. FMJ is going to take care of everything. But--" she hastily added, as if he were about to argue with her. "I'll still get to play at being president of the company. You'll be watching over my shoulder, so there's no chance I'll make things worse. I'll just get to sit there, looking good, while a big strong man fixes things for me. It's the job I was raised to do."

"Kitty--" he began, but the doors opened and she cut him off as they did.

"My father would be so proud."

She said it with the cavalier indifference of someone who was truly in pain. But damn, she was good at hiding it.

If he hadn't met her under other circumstances, if he'd never seen her with her guard down, he'd probably even be fooled. But as it was, he saw right through her.

If she'd been weeping and moping, maybe he could have ignored her despair. Or handed her off into the care of someone who knew her better. But these bitter self-recriminations...well, he remembered how he'd felt after his father died. The grief, the anger, the guilt, all rolled into one. He wouldn't wish that on anyone.

He fell into step beside her, and said, "Look, you're going through a hard time. You shouldn't be alone tonight. It's Friday night. Why not let me take you out for--"

"It's not necessary. I have plans."

"Plans?" he asked. "After a day like today?"

She waved a hand, still putting on a brave face. "It's
something I couldn't get out of. A commitment from weeks ago."

He quirked an eyebrow, waiting for her to supply more information.

Finally she added, "It's a fundraiser for The Children's Medical Foundation. At The Pierre. Very posh. You wouldn't be comfortable there," she finished dismissively.

She was either trying to insult him or she'd made up the engagement to put him off. He didn't believe for a minute that she planned on going to this charity event, even if she had bought the tickets months ago. She was just trying to get rid of him. But he couldn't stand the thought of her all alone, wallowing in her misery.

"Great." Why not pretend to buy her story? "I'll come with you."

She shot him a look icy enough to freeze his eyebrows off.

Okay, so he couldn't exactly imagine Kitty wallowing in anything. Here in New York she was as cool and collected as they came.

But he'd seen her outside her element. He'd seen her vulnerable. He knew that a passionate, emotional woman lurked beneath the surface of her icy cool perfection. If he peeled back the layers to reveal that woman, he'd probably find someone who could use a shoulder to cry on.

Kitty stopped in the lobby, ignoring the other people filtering out onto the street. "You don't need to do that."

"I don't have plans."

"Your partner--"

"Has a teleconference with some people in China."

"Who called a meeting for a Saturday morning?" she pressed.

"You know what they say." He flashed a smile. "If you don't come in on Saturday, don't bother coming in on Sunday, either."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

But she wasn't. He could see the strain in the lines around her eyes and in the tightness of her mouth. Of course, there was a chance his attempt to be kind was only making matters worse, but his gut told him to keep pushing. He was almost past her defenses, but charm alone wouldn't get her to open up. He needed to change tactics.

"Oh, I get it," he said. "You don't want to be with me."

"Exactly."

"You're probably afraid of how you feel about me." A lock of her hair had fallen free of its twist. He reached out and gave it a quick tug before tucking it behind her ear. He let his fingers linger there, at the sensitive place along the back of her ear.

She rolled her eyes. "That's not going to work."

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You're trying to bait me," she accused.

"Hey, I understand. You don't want to be alone with me. Can't say I blame you." He dropped his eyes to her lips. He let himself remember what it had been like to kiss her. To feel her breath hot on his skin. When he met her gaze again, he knew she remembered it, too.
"It's probably wise. We should spend as little time together as possible."

Her breath seemed to catch in her throat and her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. Then she seemed to shake off the effects. Her eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance. "Fine." She turned and started to walk away. "If you're so desperate for something to do tonight that you'll pull that cheap trick, you can come along. But don't blame me if tickets to this fundraiser are outrageously expensive at the last minute."

He smiled as he fell into step beside her. The spark was back in her eyes. The bite was back in her words. She'd be fine.

"I'll pick you up at your place," he offered.

"That's not necessary."

"I don't mind."

"Well, I do," she countered. "You don't honestly think I'm going to tell you where I live, do you?"

"You don't honestly believe I don't already know, do you?"

She turned and shot him an assessing stare. "You know where I live? What did you do, hire a private investigator?"

"I didn't have to. Jonathon has a whole team that researches that kind of thing when we're looking to acquire a company."

"I don't know whether to be creeped out or impressed." She reached the street and raised her hand to hail a cab, but this time of night the streets were packed. "Creeped out wins, I think."

"This is just company policy."

"What, all's fair in love and war?" she asked with an edge to her voice.

"This isn't love or war. This is business."

He held her gaze as firmly as he said it.

She jerked her gaze away from his, turning her attention to the passing cabs on the street. "This may be only business to you. But for me, it's both love and war. I love Biedermann's. And I've spent the last six months fighting for its survival. This may not be personal for you, but it's deeply personal for me."

A look of surprise crossed her face. Like she hadn't meant to admit that. Or maybe she just wasn't used to talking about her emotions.

After a minute he said, "Maybe that's part of the problem."

"Part of what problem?" He was about to respond, but she stopped him before he could. "And don't you dare tell me that 'the problem' is that I care too much. That I'm too emotionally involved to make rational decisions. Because I don't believe that my emotional state has anything to do with the flagging economy or the fact that malls across America are doing lower volume sales across the board." Her voice rose as she spoke, betraying her frustration. "If I could miraculously turn off my emotions and stop caring about Biedermann's, it wouldn't make a bit of difference. So if it's all the same to you, I'm going to go right on caring passionately about--"

Her voice cracked and she started blinking rapidly. Like she was trying to hold back tears.

He reached out a hand to her. "Kitty, I'm sorry--"

But a cab finally pulled up before he could finish the sentence. "Don't be sorry," she ordered as she opened the door. "Just find a way to fix it. Because if you can't, then we're both screwed."

She didn't look back as she climbed into the cab. He watched her go in silence.

She was one tough cookie.

Every other woman he knew was more in touch with her emotions. Or--he corrected himself--maybe just more willing to use her emotions to get what she wanted. Any one of his sisters would have been boo-hooing up a storm halfway through the meeting. But Kitty had just sat there in silence. Listening to every word that was said, but commenting little herself.

If it hadn't been for her outburst in the elevator, he might never have known how upset she truly was. She was unlike any woman he'd ever known. She wasn't willing to use tears to get what she wanted. He had to admire that.

But in other ways, Kitty was exactly like the other women he knew. She herself had admitted that she'd been on the lookout for a rich husband.

But somehow the poor bastard had slipped away. Or the lucky bastard, as the case may be. Frankly, he didn't know whether to feel sorry for the guy or not. Kitty was a hell of a woman.

Sure, he'd used steak knives that were less sharp than her tongue, but for him, that was part of her charm. He had enough women in his life that he had to walk on eggshells around. Thank God he didn't want to get married. Otherwise he might be tempted to drop to his knees and propose right now. He nearly chuckled imagining the scathing response that would earn him.

Ford had developed a certain cynicism about the institution at a very young age. He'd been about nine or ten when he first discovered that his father had a long-term girlfriend living one town over. Eventually, that girlfriend had developed into a second family, complete with two curly-haired little girls, quite close in age to his own sister.

At first the way his father balanced both families disgusted Ford. By the time he reached adulthood himself, it was no longer his father's behavior that troubled him. By then he'd realized both his mother and the other woman knew about each other. They'd been content to let the situation slide. As long as there was enough money to go around.

Since his father's death, Patrice and Suz had become friends in some sick little way. As for the girls, they now treated each other like the sisters they were. He seemed to be the only one who found the situation odd.

Now, standing on the curb watching the spot where Kitty's taxi had disappeared into the night, Ford nearly laughed himself. If she thought her revelation about her family would scare him off, she had another
think coming. His family had more drama than a Greek tragedy.

Ford tucked his hands into his pockets and started walking toward the nearest subway station. It wasn't far back to the hotel and it was a nice night. He might as well enjoy the weather.

Only then did he feel the earring still in his pocket. It was just as well he hadn't returned it to her today. She might have been tempted to cram it down his throat.

Kitty's apartment, a walk-up in the eclectic Murray Hill neighborhood, surprised him. He'd have pegged her for an Upper East Side girl, or at the very least he imagined her in some glossy new high-rise. Instead, she lived in a prewar building that had seen better years.

When she let him into her fourth-floor apartment she wasn't dressed yet. She left him waiting in her living room for nearly an hour. Probably just to tick him off.

Her apartment was smaller than he'd expected, sparsely furnished with a few antiques. With the exception of a couple of framed black-and-white family pictures, the walls were bare. Either her taste was minimalist or she hadn't lived here long.