Can't Buy Me Love (6 page)

“I’d think you’d be much more concerned with Stan,” Meg said as she slid along the backseat’s leather.

Cole climbed into the car. “Stan? That’s not where the power resides in their relationship.” Cole settled in close beside her. Too close.

Heat raced through her as Cole’s leg rested against hers.

“For Stan, everything is about his wife. And if Allison wants to sell the company to me, to us, then we’ll close this deal before we leave.”

Us?
There wasn’t an “us.”

“And I want to close this deal before we leave.” He turned to her. His lips were so close. He lowered his voice. “And I’m guessing you do, too.”

Meg’s heart thumped in her chest and desire rushed through her body. Churning up those dangerous feelings for Cole that she’d adeptly ignored for three years.

Why now was it difficult to dampen down her desires for Cole? Perhaps because they were in paradise? Perhaps because she spent the last six months away from him and now he was so impossibly close? Maybe because her promotion was so near? Or…could it be the realization that this man, the man that she thought she knew so very well, to her utter amazement, admitted to believing in marriage and true love? Whatever the reason, Cole Jackson was giving her fits and flutters that Meg wished she could more readily ignore.

“Yes, I would.” Meg shook her head and snapped back to reality. She looked out the tinted window at the lush greenery and palm trees racing by. She had to stay focused. Remember that Cole was her boss. This was a test of her resolve, her will, and her abilities. A test she couldn’t fail.

“Manuel mentioned a shop called Papagayo Hermoso,” Meg said to their driver. “Do you know it?” He looked up into the rearview mirror and nodded.

“The best clothes on the entire coast.”

The knotted muscles in her shoulders refused to relax. Hopefully she could find something suitable for dinner. Nothing too flashy. Preferably a little black dress not too low nor too high bu—

“Don’t wear black,” Cole said.

“Excuse me?” This was the second time in one day that Cole had given her fashion advice.

“Too formal. This is their vacation. You don’t want to look like you’re attending a funeral. Wear something festive. Bright. To celebrate the deal you’re about to close.”

“Me? I’m not closing anything, I merely assist—”

“Yes, you are. You’re making sure this deal gets closed. I’m only here as an observer. This is your deal, Meggy, your baby.”

An edgy feeling lodged in her stomach. A wave of anxiety crashed into her chest, washing away her confidence for a moment. Her deal. Her baby. Her promotion to win or lose. Every moment with Cole was some type of test for her to ace or fail.

“You’re ready? Aren’t you?”

Of course she was ready. She had waited three years for the moment that she could prove how capable she was, how proficient, how competent. So why did she feel so unprofessional, so unprepared? Perhaps it was her tireless pursuit of the TBC deal combined with this increasing desire for both her boss and her promotion.

“Of course I’m ready,” she said, casually trying to ignore Cole’s leg pressed against her thigh. Or his hand, which rested at the edge of her hand—so close she could feel the heat from his fingers. Or his earthy scent that filled the car and made her thoughts swim.

“Good,” Cole said.

The car pulled to a stop.

“Papagayo Hermoso,” the driver said. He opened his door and got out to open Meg’s.

“I’ll come with you,” Cole said, and reached for the door handle.

“No,” Meg said, her voice firm enough to stop a man like Cole from exiting the car. “You won’t. I am perfectly capable of purchasing a dress for a business dinner.”

She wished that she had worn her sunglasses. Cool, calm, and collected was much easier from behind a pair of shades.

Cole eyed her as if deciding to obey or per his usual do what
he
wanted. He wasn’t accustomed to taking orders—not even from her.

 “Fair enough,” Cole said. “Shall we meet back here around four?”

Meg squinted at Cole. Something was missing, something he was never without… “Where is your phone? Your BlackBerry?”

“At Casa del Mar,” Cole said.

“How can I—how can the company get a hold of you? What if I need you? What if they need you? What if—”

“You need me, Meggy?” A playful grin danced around the edge of Cole’s mouth.

More than she would ever let on.

“We’re in the middle of the biggest deal of your career and you don’t have your BlackBerry?”

“Correction,” Cole said. “
You
are in the middle of the biggest deal of
your
career. And I’m guessing—no, I would stake all of Comnet on the fact that you have not only your BlackBerry in that tiny little parcel you call a purse but a backup phone, too, just in case.”

Meg shifted in her seat. Of course she had two phones. It was her job to be prepared, to be reachable, to make sure Comnet could find Cole. Her job was to handle any bump, any emergency, anything that could happen at a moment’s notice.

Cole tilted his head back and smiled at the closed sunroof. “My little Meggy. Always so prepared.”

“And what will you do?” Meg asked. “While I shop?”

Cole leaned toward her, but she didn’t lean away. She wouldn’t shy away from him. She wouldn’t let on that Cole got to her, made her anxious and nervous and caused her to feel completely unprepared.

“Like I said”—Cole spoke low, his voice throaty—“research.”

Energy shimmered between them, but she didn’t want to let on that the tone of his voice made her insides quiver.

“On?” Meg maintained a low volume. If he wanted to play deep, dark, and sexy, so could she.

Cole paused, as if startled by her tone, not one she had ever used on Cole before. Hell, it wasn’t one she used on any man. But from the dilation of his pupils it appeared to work. His tongue flicked over his lower lip and his eyebrow twitched.

“A woman.”

She wanted more information, and the only way to get it without asking was to hold Cole’s gaze. She didn’t play these games. Ever. She was uncomfortable using her femininity to get information. His eyes—they were so intense. She wanted to look away, but to look away was to admit defeat, to let him know that she couldn’t withstand his full-court press. Finally, a smile broke across his face.

“Allison Morton,” Cole said. “Who else?”

Chapter Seven

Cole slid into a seat at the local bar Manuel suggested. Meg surprised him. Every time he thought he’d completely figured out Miss Meggy, she’d come at him with something completely unexpected. That voice. That look. He doubted the tone and facial expression she used in the car were on any of her lists about how to conduct business.

“Good afternoon.” The bartender placed a coaster in front of Cole. “What would you like?”

“What do you suggest?” Cole asked. According to Manuel, Stan and Allison frequented this restaurant every few days when they stayed in Costa Rica.

“Does the gentleman prefer beer or wine?”

“Let’s go with a beer,” Cole said.

The bartender returned with a long-neck bottle and a frosted mug, but Cole shook his head no at the mug. He took a long swallow of beer.

“Nice choice,” Cole said, and looked at the label.

“Many Americans like this beer. I assume you are American?”

“I am.” Cole held out his hand and introduced himself.

“Alejandro,” the bartender said, and shook Cole’s hand. His smile was comfortable; he was a man content with his life.

 “You’re the owner?”

Alejandro’s smile remained but his eyebrows lifted with surprise. “Have we met?”

“I’m staying at Casa del Mar and Manuel suggested I stop by. Said I would like your restaurant, and I do.”

Blond wood floors and big bay windows. An open dining area and bar. Even though everything was high-end the place was disarmingly comfortable. Cole understood why Stan and Allison enjoyed dining here.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Morton’s friend.”

“Now it’s my turn to be surprised.”

“He and his wife were in for lunch. He spoke of you. That you came all the way from Los Angeles because he hadn’t returned your call quick enough.”

Alejandro pulled a wineglass from the rack of clean glasses behind him and with a white cloth wiped away water spots before hanging the glass above the bar. “You are a determined man.”

Cole tipped the beer bottle to his lips. He’d been called worse—much worse. But he knew from experience that it wasn’t words that could truly wound you. No, it was actions. Cold, calculated, and deceitful actions caused harm. Words? Words, Cole could survive.

“Mr. Morton has created an enviable business that I want very much to purchase.”

“So he said.” Alejandro wiped clean another glass. “But Mr. Morton is not the one you have to convince.”

“Mrs. Morton? Allison?” Cole nodded. “Yes, she’s the key.”

“And he is the lock.” Alejandro settled his hands upon the gleaming wooden bar. “Like most men in love, whatever the woman wants, well, the man will do.”

Was that how it worked? Cole was certain that he never wanted to be that vulnerable.

“But Mrs. Morton, she seems to like you. But more than you, she likes your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?”

Alejandro nodded. “The señorita with you. She is your girlfriend? Yes?”

“You mean Meg.” Cole took another drink.

Girlfriend? Allison believed that he and Meg were a couple?

“Of course she likes Meg. Everyone likes Meg, even if she can be a pain.”

“Ah.” Alejandro held a glass up toward the sunlight and looked for spots. “You must be in love then.”

“Love?”

Cole wouldn’t call the hot desire pitted deep in his gut love. Lust? Yes. That feeling nearly swallowed him whole while working long hours beside Meg. But love? No, Cole, could not—would not—commit to that emotion.

“Mr. Jackson, I’ve owned this bar for dozens of years and for all men there is one common factor about the women that they love most.”

“This I have to hear. It sounds like the secret to life.”

“The women that men love most—well those are also the women that drive them
loco
.”

“Then Meg and I must be well on our way to a long-lasting relationship.” Cole drank his final sip of beer. Alejandro set another on the bar before Cole could say no.

“This Meg, she is beautiful? No?”

Cole pulled at the label on his beer. Meg was more than beautiful—she was breathtaking. “
Sí
.”

“And she is smart?”

“Brilliant.”

“And she understands you?”

Cole’s heart picked up speed in his chest, and he looked up from his beer. “Like no other woman before.”

“And you already mentioned she drives you…how do you say it? Nuts? A little
loco
?”

Cole nodded, and took a long pull on his beer.

“Then, Mr. Jackson, I would say don’t worry about being careful about falling in love, because you, señor, are more than halfway there.”

*

Cole said no black. And as much as she loathed the idea of choosing her dress based on her boss’s desires, she realized that he was correct. Meg turned in front of the mirror in the dressing room surveying the modest black linen dress she picked from one of the racks. This dress would be perfect…for a funeral.

“Señorita.” The shop owner pushed open the dressing room curtain. “No, no, no! You look like a fifty-year-old matron who has lost her third husband. The color? It is depressing. The cut? It is unflattering. This is Papagayo! You need something vibrant! Something that makes you feel alive! Something like this.”

The woman thrust a red dress toward Meg. Meg stepped back as if the woman held a viper ready to strike. She didn’t wear red. Ever. Too flashy. Too attention-grabbing. Too—

“This dress will make the men notice you,” the woman said with the lasciviousness of a madam in a bordello.

And there was that. The men, or man, one man in particular, would notice this dress and not for the right reasons. The cut was a little low at the neck and a little high on the thigh. Meg reached out and ran a finger over the rich fabric of the deep red dress. A dress that a confident woman would wear, a woman that felt good about—well, about. Being a woman, looking like a woman.

“Try it,” the tiny woman built like a spark plug urged. Meg started to say no but then caught her reflection in the mirror. She
did
look like a fifty-year-old matron about to attend a funeral, and she wasn’t even thirty. She reached out her hand for the hanger.

“Okay.”

Once she slipped on the dress, Meg turned her back toward the dressing room doorway for the shop owner to pull up the zipper. Before she faced her reflection butterflies bounced about her belly. She knew—even without looking—that this dress hugged her curves and caressed her skin. With this dress she was all woman and powerful beauty.

“Señorita!” The shop owner clasped her hands over her mouth as she took in the sight of Meg.

Meg squared her shoulders, turned, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes.

She gasped. Oh. My. Goodness. Was that her? This…this…this woman? She twisted and turned in front of the mirror as if examining a before unknown treasure. This was her—creamy skin, bright blue eyes, full curves. She’d never felt so…so…sexy.

“You must get this dress,” the woman said. “This dress was
made
for you. This dress, it calls for you.”

A blush crept over Meg’s face. Yes, this dress fit her perfectly, but this dress sent the wrong message.

“I…I don’t think it’s right—”

“Not right? Not right! Do you see what I see?” The woman peeked over the top of Meg’s shoulder and together they examined Meg’s reflection. “This” —she waved her arms toward Meg—“is perhaps the most beautiful woman in all of Papagayo! Maybe in Costa Rica! How can you say no to this? This beauty—”

“It’s not right for tonight,” Meg added quickly. And she couldn’t think of a place that she might wear such a flashy dress. “This is a business dinner. To close a business deal. I don’t want…” Meg swiveled in front of the mirror, taking another look at how this red dress hugged her body. “I don’t want to send the wrong message.”