Can't Say No (15 page)

For a fleeting instant, Bree glimpsed a look of almost embarrassed wariness on his features, but his usual lazy smile immediately replaced it. “Once in a rare while I get stuck knuckling under like everyone else.”

“Aren’t you kind of a long way from where you normally do business?”

“I have three stores,” Hart said absently, as he stuffed the vase back in the box, frowning as his eyes scanned the room. “San Francisco, Houston, New York…Sit anywhere, Bree, would you? When there’s a mess-up on quality—particularly with a new supplier—I get stuck sorting out the problem.”

“No matter where you are, even on vacation?” Bree probed carefully.

“Whether I’m on vacation or not, my people would expect to be murdered if they accepted several thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise that isn’t up to snuff. They knew I’d want to see this, especially when we’d anticipated doing six-figure business with this particular supplier next year.” Hart straightened up. “Not,” he added swiftly, “that I care all that much, about the business.”

“Hmm.”

Hart’s brows arched suspiciously. “What’s that ‘hmm’ supposed to mean?”

“Why, nothing, Hart.” For a man who didn’t care all that much, just moments ago he’d looked as though his heart was in his work.

Avoiding her eyes suddenly, he motioned to the tray. “Ridiculous mess here, isn’t it? Neatness isn’t exactly my thing, and I figured I’d give you one more hour with your parents—there’s another glass, Bree. Want a drink?”

“A
small
one,” she said repressively.

He glanced up then, with an unholy grin. His eyes clung like tentacles to the loosely fitting shirt and baggy pants. He let out a roar. She scowled.

“How long will it take for my own clothes to dry?”

“Hours. Maybe years,” he announced, and pushed aside a box to give her a space to sit on the floor. Leaning back, he poured a brandy snifter nearly full of amber liquid from the pitcher and handed it to her as she lowered herself, cross-legged, to the carpet next to him.

She took the glass but didn’t sip. She was too busy worriedly watching Hart swallow another slug of brandy from his own glass. A strange confusion was settling in the pit of her stomach; something about Hart this evening was distinctly out of character, but overlaying that was a sharp disappointment that he was such a drinker. She had to give him credit for holding it well. His eyes on her were wide awake, full-of-devil dark blue, and glazed only with an intimate knowledge of her that seemed to transcend huge shirts and baggy pants.

Her mind groped for all her speeches, but her momentum seemed to have dissipated. Maybe plain curiosity was the problem. Certainly it wasn’t that she got a kick out of just being with him. She flicked a spot of lint from her shirt. “So…what exactly are you doing here?”

“Nothing, really. Forget it, Bree. I was just playing around for a couple hours, anyway.” Hart leaned back on an elbow, resting his brandy glass on his stomach. “Everything go all right with your father? I’ve spent a good twenty-four hours debating whether to go over there and make sure you had no more repercussions.”

“Nothing happened with my father. Both my parents are wonderfully civilized people. You just happened to startle my father a little. Do you need any help with what you’re doing?”
Now that’s not what you’re here for, Bree.
She buried her conscience’s voice as she slid over to sneak a look at one of Hart’s legal pads. The scribbled numbers took up ten pages. “Aren’t you computerized, Hart?”

“Nope, I figure it’s sort of like Custer’s Last Stand.
Somebody’s
got to hold out against the bytes and power surges that are taking over the world.”

She chuckled, but then frowned. “You mean, you have to catalog everything that comes in
by hand?
” She shook her head, took another look at the room and grabbed his pen. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want me to do.”

“Strip and do the dance of the seven veils?”

She touched her thumb to her nose and waggled her fingers. “You’ll be up all night if you don’t have some help,” she scolded.

“You think I care about any of this stuff?”

“No, of course you don’t,” she said smoothly. “That’s why you’re doing it on your vacation.”

Hart glared at her. “You were a lot easier to manage when you couldn’t talk.” He motioned to her still-full glass. “And you’re letting a perfectly good drink go to waste.”

He’d finished, she noticed, another one. Not touching her own, she finally bullied him into revealing his antiquated system of checking off numbers against the items and then the prices, which startled her. Hart’s export-import stores obviously handled merchandise of very high quality, all hand-made or hand-carved items, his specialties being jade and ivory. She stopped checking only once, when she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for the jade dragon in his hands. The carving was about six inches tall, with big, soulful eyes and a body the color of emeralds; he was whimsically mean-looking…but not really. “He reminds me of you,” she said impishly.

“Thanks. Can we stop working soon?”

“Soon,” she agreed. As soon as Hart wanted to, actually, but it was perfectly obvious he was worried about the shipment. Several things were cracked, producing massive scowls on his forehead and a muttered string of colorful expletives. Only when they came very close to the end did her throat feel dry. Thirstily, she reached for her glass.

She took a tiny sip and frowned, then took a bigger sip. “Hart,” she said slowly.

“Hmm.”

“This is apple juice.”

He glanced up. “If you want brandy, I probably have some in the kitchen somewhere.”

“You
knew
I thought you were guzzling brandy like there was no tomorrow.”

Hart pushed away a trail of wrappings and leaned back on his elbows with a grin. “Would you believe I do all my heavy drinking before lunch, just to be different?”

“No. And you deliberately led me to believe you drank
only
alcoholic beverages,” she accused.

“When was this?” Hart asked with surprise.

“At the cabin. A few nights ago. You were yelling because I had no hooch or beer or anything you would conceivably drink—”

“Oh. That.” Hart shrugged. “That was sort of a case of doing anything I could think of to keep you revved up, honey. Worked, didn’t it? You slept like a log that night.”

“What little sleep you let me have.”

He grinned. “Come closer and let me check out the circles under your eyes
today.
” He peered closer. “Good Lord. You’ve practically got ditches there. Who on earth kept you up
last
night?”

Bree choked on her apple juice. “No one kept me up
last
night. And don’t try to avoid the subject.”

“What subject?”

“You’re a fraud,” she said slowly. “You’re not only a fraud, you’re a
lousy
fraud. This…
stuff.
” She waved her hands expressively over the room. “You led me to believe you never did any work at all, just traveled around the world and collected women.”

“I
never
said I collected women.”

Bree flushed, aware she’d put her own interpretation on some of his words here and there. “From the character sketch you gave me, I doubted very much that you even knew what your company imported—much less that you got directly involved in quality control.”

“Sometimes, just for kicks, I stick my finger in to make sure everyone is doing a good job.”

“Would you like me to tell you where you can stick your finger, Hart?”

He shook his head sadly. “If we could only regress about two days, when I had you well under my thumb, sexy and silent…”

“Do you have a family?” Bree swung her legs under her, her fists on her knees.

“How did
they
get into this? Of course I have a family.” He added mildly, “What members didn’t disown me in my younger days.”

“Specifically, did your mother survive those younger days?”

“Mom? She’s a brick.”

Bree had to severely repress laughter. “And your father. The one who despaired you’d ever turn out a productive human being?”

“Dad was a very productive human being. He had me, didn’t he? And three more. He’s more into being happily retired than reproducing these days. None of the rest of the siblings, alas, inherited my incredible good looks. Come on over here, Bree.”

When she failed to move, he tugged at her pantlegs. The harder he pulled, the more the jeans were in danger of slipping down from her hips, in spite of the belt. Bree batted at his fingers, but Hart’s hands were bigger than hers. He wasn’t content until she was sitting facing him, with his legs over hers and a lazy grin within kissing distance. “We’ve been talking too much,” he informed her gravely. “Let’s get you polluted on apple juice, so I can have my way with you.”

She sighed, loudly. “You’re not going to have your way with me, Hart. That isn’t why I came here—and did they all turn out as badly as you did? The siblings, I mean?” She was determined to finish the conversation. As far as she could tell, every single thing he’d ever told her about himself had been a lie. In one sense, she felt enraged, in another like laughing, and in another…she wasn’t at all sure what she was feeling. Danger, at being close to him. And loving being close. And fear that she was coming to conclusions too fast.

It was kind of mind-boggling, watching the transformation of Hart from irresponsible globe-trotter to dedicated businessman. From an alcoholic to a man hooked on apple juice. From articulate cynic to secret softie.

And Hart’s eyes held navy blue glints that kept trying to beguile her, even as he impatiently answered her questions. “Most of them turned out worse. John’s been in law school for about fifty years now. He
loves
going to school. Jennifer married a doctor, which sounds good enough except that they had to buy into a practice, and with a baby on the way—”

“They were broke?”

“After so many years of medical school? Hell, they didn’t have a crumb in the cupboard. Eric’s the worst. He decided a few years ago to go back to nature. He has a little farm in Vermont. Very picturesque. Very, very picturesque mortgage. They charge gold bullion for land there, you know.”

“Nope, I didn’t.”

“And Eric’s got two kids besides. Twins. Two years old and so damned cute—not that I like kids,” he added hastily. “But when you’re stuck with a couple of nephews, what the heck.”

“You adore them,” Bree said flatly.

“Maybe,” Hart hedged.

“And you’ve been obligated to help your brothers and sisters financially.”

“They’re all in a hurry to get off my hands. A few more years and I can be
really
irresponsible. Anyway, this conversation has taken a kind of boring turn.” He smiled in such an innocent, disarming way, just before his fingers pulled at the open throat of her shirt and he ducked his head for a view. “You know, I really think this is one of the world’s scenic wonders. Ever seen the Taj Mahal?”

“
No.
Hart—”

“Lots of white marble, a few fountains. Domed tops. I like your domed tops better. Talk about your architectural wonders.” Thirty seconds later, he had whisked all the wrapping paper away, lowered a startled Bree to the carpet and was straddling her. One of his fingers was busy with the buttons of her shirt as he grinned. “I know a great game for domed tops.”

“You weigh at least a ton, and I didn’t come here for this.”

“Now, Bree.” He flipped open two buttons, in spite of her hands chasing after him. “To hell with domed tops. Ice-cream cones. That’s really what they remind me of. Do you lick your ice-cream cones from the top or the sides?”

His tongue flicked over a nipple. The helpless laughter rippling through Bree abruptly died. His soft tongue strayed down to the side of one breast, lapping at the circumference as if he were indeed savoring vanilla ice cream. Or maybe chocolate. Or maybe wild cherry.

“Unlike ice-cream cones, the more you lick, the
less
they disappear. Have you noticed that phenomenon, Bree? They’re swelling up,” he whispered. His eyes lifted distractedly to hers. “Also, they’re not at all cold. One might even go so far as to say—”

“
Hart.
Sex is a serious business. Do you have a straightjacket I could conveniently put on you for the next five minutes?”

He shook his head. “Honey, you’re such a mental mess. Who on earth gave you your sex education, anyway?
Sex is fun
. I thought we covered all this two nights ago.” He glanced down at what his hand was covering and started chuckling. “We did. Cover this. Extensively.”

“You still have work to do,” Bree said desperately. How had things gotten out of hand so fast? Maybe her prepared speeches were in a mental rejection pile, and maybe they belonged there, but she still didn’t want an affair based only on sex…even if her heart was kicking in approval at a thundering rate.

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“A stitch in time saves nine,” she shot back.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Bree frowned up at him. “What do apples have to do with anything?”

“I thought you wanted to quote proverbs.”

She closed her eyes disgustedly. A mistake. Hart promptly leaned over to kiss them. Lips softer than silk brushed the delicate flesh of her eyelids, then grazed her cheekbone, then burrowed into her rain-softened hair.

He was doing it again, she thought dismally. Making her smile, making her feel intensely desired, making her believe there could be absolutely nothing more right or delightful than fooling around with him. Ice-cream cones, damn him.

His lips teased the corner of her mouth, nipping and gently biting until she parted her own. He waited then, eyes soft and silent on hers before he moved. His tongue flicked at the entrance of her lips, then thrust in, filling every secret moist corner. He withdrew it, then thrust in again. And again. With a helpless, almost angry little murmur, Bree surged closer, rubbing her hips against his, a capitulation that she could no more have helped than breathing.