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She loved her job. Although the outcomes and
circumstances were as different as night from day with both men, Sara did not
want to lose Tep. She liked working for him. She loved his attitude about life.
The smell of him was out of this world.

With Boyd, she’d been tremendously hurt by his
betrayal, hurt again by the miscarriage. With Casey, she was still hurting.
She’d fallen hard for the club owner, only to have him turn on her as he had.
She never thought it would happen twice—but when it had, she’d been so
unprepared for it. Hence, another disappearing act made to perfection.

“Mexican? Or burgers, Debra?” Tepper questioned,
drawing her thoughts back into conversation by the mention of her new name.

Sara gave Tepper her undivided attention. It had been
wavering into the past and caught up on past mistakes made.

“I get a choice this time?”

Tepper’s head nodded as he controlled the SUV through
an intersection. He turned right at the next traffic light.

“I’m actually hungry for Italian, if you don’t mind,”
she said
.
Just the thought of a plate of pasta covered in Alfredo sauce
caused the mouth to water.

His face whipped to hers in rapid, mortified haste.
“Italian? Christ, Debra! I’m a starving French man. We do not eat Italian
food…if we can help it.”

“But you eat Mexican—and Chinese?” she teased, gaining
a huge grin from her handsome boss.

“Mexican food beats the bloody hell out of a pile of
spaghetti any day of the week.” He even shuddered as afterthought at having to
consume pasta smothered in tomato sauce. And not good tomato sauce, to his
voiced opinion.

“Fine, make it burgers as takeout so I can get back to
my hung paintings and you can get back to finishing up with your piece of shit.
I mean… retro-masterpiece, don’t I?”

Tepper smiled even more. “Burgers, not takeout, and
you will get back to work when I take you back. As far as
Up Shit Creek…
I
think half-man, half-alien can wait. It’s not like he can walk away.”

Sara recklessly asked him without proper thought, “And
when will this be?” After work, she planned to do a week’s worth of laundry.
Beyond it, eight hours of uninterrupted sleep well deserved.

Tepper turned his face to hers, gave her a moment to
look into his thoughts, and told her flat out exactly what he had brewing
behind those gorgeous teal eyes. “We’ll go back to the gallery when I feel like
it.”

He did not say anything more. And Sara did not ask any
more. Her brain had jumpstarted into the wrong direction.

When he felt like it?

Tepper was prone to unusual behavior and spur of the
moment decisions. Such an easy answer could mean tomorrow, next week, even next
month, if the mood suited this man. He was known to skip out early just to do a
little fly-fishing. Once, he went skydiving before a highly publicized
opening—because it was a Monday, and he said Monday’s were the best day to
die…if it God’s plan.

The man was quite theosophical.

If they did not return to the gallery until tomorrow,
she would be billions of minutes behind in work, and not ready for the gallery
opening tomorrow night; and he would likely do his usual and not help her out,
saying she could handle it and he had faith in her.

There were a thousand things yet to do, preparations
she had to finalize. Sara had to call the caterer to verify the headcount for
the wines they were going to serve. She couldn’t waste time while eating a
hamburger and fries because her stomach had growled at the worst possible
moment. And Tepper seemed as though he wanted to waste the rest of his day.

She was about to tell him this simply would not do
when he pulled to the curb, turned to her, and gave her an easy smile melting
her into a large pool of forgetfulness in only a matter of seconds.

“We’re going to go to my place. We are going to start
the grill. We are going to have a burger or two. We will eat to our hearts
content, drink until skunk drunk, and if lucky, take a moonlight swim to cool
down the steam.”

“Tepper Le D`oun! You know we don’t have time for
this!” Sara fumed, avoiding all talk of steam and moonlight swims. He just told
her he kidnapped her for the day. She was pissed.

 But this was Tepper’s usual behavior. She should have
known better than to trust the man.

“We have the time, Debra,” he ruled.

“And if I don’t agree?” she childishly asked.

“Then you don’t get to enjoy the culinary pleasure of
one of my world famous burgers. Nor swim in an Olympic sized pool, complete
with cabana bar, massage table, and hot tub.”

Sara snorted, adding tartly, “Only you would have an
Olympic sized pool! That you likely never enjoy. Wasn’t it you, who took a
quick jaunt to New Zealand last month just to swim in clear water and frolic
with sharks?”

“Debra, Debra, Debra,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“Men don’t frolic with sharks. They become one with the beast. And did I also
mention I have an Olympic size barbecue.” Devilishly said, he added, “Olympic
size bed,” only to spite the tongue.

“Okay! Enough already.” Sara crossed her arms in
defiant posture. “You win. I have been officially kidnapped, and you will have
the worst gala opening tomorrow night
…ever
! And it won’t be my fault
this time. It will be yours.”

“You just can’t admit it, can you?” he reasoned.

One lone brow cocked on Sara’s face. “Admit what?”

“That you’re actually happy you get a break from the
hectic month we’ve had. That you’re going to enjoy a backyard barbecue, cooked
by none other than little old me. And that you will enjoy my company to the
utmost, when out of the workplace and no one the wiser to what we’re up to.”

“Is that what this is all about?” she quizzed, with
expectations the answer would be what she wanted to hear.

“Is what about?”

“You get to cook, show off, and spend time with me,
which doesn’t include the gallery or what others may see?”

His left brow rose, as did the corner of his mouth. A
slight tilt made to create a near smile on his lips. “Is it that obvious?”

Sara shook her head as she bit down on her bottom lip.
“With you, Tep… nothing is ever obvious. Nor, what it ever seems.”

She meant this with every fiber of her being. Tepper
Le D`oun was the most closed book on the shelf. He would only let you read a
little of him at a time. Even then, it was not enough to get insight into the
real man. Rugged good looks and extreme wealth couldn’t tell you what a person
was really like. An individual had to dig deeper and get under the layers to
find the flaws.

She should know.

“We’ve been together six months, Debra. I don’t know a
damn thing about you that is not work related. I thought it high time I get to
know the real you. This is the perfect opportunity. We’ve both had a lot of
stress over the last few weeks. I need a break, so do you, and a pile of
strange limbs can wait.”

“Are you trying to say…?” She wondered if he was
hinting she wasn’t doing her job well enough, or seemed burnt out from it,
because this wasn’t true.

Sara dared this man to find someone better than her,
someone more willing to bend to his every whim.

“That I am interested in you?” he finished instead.
“Yes. I am. Does my interest disturb your moral convictions somehow? I rather
thought the feeling was mutual these last few months.” His grin slowly fell.
“If I took in the wrong signals, or was wrong about how you feel about a
relationship, I can always turn this vehicle around—no harm, no foul. You won’t
be fired from your job if you don’t like me in a physical way. It might be a
little awkward for a few days, but I will definitely get over it—with time.”

Sara’s eyes widened again. Her brain screamed out,
Oh,
God, Tep. I like you. I like you a little too much
. Yet she kept her mouth
clamped firmly shut to prevent such a thing from slipping out at the worst
possible moment.

This silence gave Tepper fuel to add more.

“I’ve stunned you, haven’t I?’

Sara nodded. “Yes. A little.”

“Is there any interest, on your part? Mine is highly
peaked, just to let you know.”

He waited with baited breath for her answer.

Sara took her own deep breath. “Yes. There is a lot of
interest, as a matter of fact.”

She watched as he flared his nostrils, gave a quick
nod of the head, turned his attention back to driving the SUV, checked the
traffic, pulled from the curb, and drove the remaining distance to his place in
mutual silence.

As he headed into the pricier section of town, turned
down a side street lined with poplar trees, this silence stretched out. The
vehicle stopped in front of a three-story mansion, red brick façade and worth
every penny spent on it.

It was not until he shut down the engine when Tepper
was ready to talk. But he did not use his mouth to form words. He put his hand
behind her head and pulled her pursed lips to his; firmly planting his mouth
onto hers.

The sudden contact had Sara’s mind reeling. Her
thoughts ran in circles. Her heart hit the brakes, restarted, then hit the
brakes again. One truly incredible kiss had lit her whole body on fire. She was
so warm she would have sworn her eyeballs were sweating.

Six-feet-six Tepper Le D`oun could certainly kiss the
socks off the most confirmed nun. Never again would she question if a Frenchman
could kiss a woman.

He pulled back from her mouth as quickly as he’d
sought it. “That was to ease the tension in you,” he muttered.

He must have thought more on the sudden release,
because it was not more than a half-second before his lips found hers again.
This time it was no brief kiss he gave her. No. This time Tepper drove his
tongue deep into the recesses of her parted lips; battling wills. His hand
found the back of her head. And there was no doubt, whatsoever; he wanted her
as badly as she wanted him.

For the better part of the last six months, Sara had
been denying that want with vengeance.

Apparently, so had he.

A fully satisfied man eased back with a grin on his
face. “And that was to sway my conscience toward what I would like to do to you
tonight, if you let me. But I won’t push you. If you change your mind at any
time during the course of our dinner, the sharing of a bottle of wine, or a
promised moonlight swim…let me know. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable
when in my home—or with me.”

Sara licked her swollen lips and smiled at his eager,
almost boyishly charm. She would be crazy to change her mind about wanting this
night to go as he was likely planning it to be. Boyd and Casey could kiss, as
most men could—Griffen far better than McCarlye, and unfortunately a man she
had to forget at all costs.

All it took was the will, a mutually agreeable
partner, and a pair of moistened lips to guide her in this direction.

However, Tepper Le D`oun had made a dormant volcano
explode inside her. Hot, molten lava was almost tepid compared to how her inner
core had responded.

Sara Rogan—aka Mecenna Jones, aka Debra Batton—was
ready for anything coming her way; including a long night with a rather
intriguing Frenchman. As far as she was concerned, food could be damned. Sara
was no longer hungry for food. She was hungry for man.

She must have had this look on her face because Tepper
let out a heavy sigh, stared at her face once more, then slowly got out of the
SUV. He strode over to her side of the vehicle and opened her door. The moment
her feet touched pavement, he took her by the hand and guided her into his
mansion.

She barely took the time to take in the sights or
smell. Huge, sparsely furnished, playboy realm, what little there was inside
the rooms was bought with taste and obvious wealth. But so many open spaces
seemed appropriate. Most men like Le D`oun, Tep didn’t need tons of furnishing
to clutter up his life.

All Sara could really concentrate on was what his
fingers gripped with hers felt like; and then, put thought to what those
fingers would feel like once they touched her inflamed skin.

It had been a long time since Sara had sex—too long.
Would she screw it up? God, with any hope, no! Tepper was more than worth the
effort of not screwing this up.

He walked her through his palatial home, then guided
her toward an enormous kitchen fifty people would fit comfortably in, and moved
them on through an open glass door to the patio. In front of her, was an
Olympic size pool, complete with hot tub and cabana, as promised. Under the cabana
was a massage table laden with goodies: oils, sex paraphernalia, the works at
their disposal.

Sara’s gaze glued to the table. She knew nothing about
this side of her boss.

“See? Told you I had a pool,” he announced brightly.

Her eyes turned to his. “Did you think I hadn’t
believed you?”

His sudden smile melted her heart. “If you behave, my
dear, I may give offer of a world famous massage in this package deal. Game for
it?” he said suggestively.