Falling For Her Boss (14 page)

"The one has nothing to do with the other."

She stopped struggling against his gentle but firm grip and opened her mouth in astonishment.  When she recovered, she said, "Of course it does!  How can I trust you when you don't tell me the truth?  Omission is the same as lying."

"There are reasons to omit, Francie.  Sometimes to protect..."

Her voice rose.  "I don't need your protection."

He moved closer to her, bringing her wrists into his chest.  "Yes, I knew they were developers.  Yes, I knew they were interested and they might come back.  But you heard them.  They're not ready to write up a contract.  It's all speculative.  More deals fall through than come to fruition."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The shininess in her eyes led him to take her hand, still curled into a fist, and bring it to his lips.  He didn't kiss it, just felt its softness against him.  It was enough to arouse him, enough to make him want to lay her on the scarred wood floor and make passionate love to her.  "I didn't tell you because you had enough to think about."

Defiance flickered over her features, but she let him keep her hand cradled under his chin.  "I have two older brothers.  I don't need another one."

"Believe me, I don't feel like a brother."

"What do you feel like?" she asked so softly her lips stayed parted.

The shy catch in her voice hit him like a sucker-punch.  Honesty spilled out.  "I feel chemistry, Francie.  Chemistry so strong that I know I have to back away or someone will get hurt."

"Why?"

He met her whispered question with certainty.  "Because I'm not the type of man you need, if you need one at all right now.  I don't stay in one place long enough to get attached.  You want attachment.  You've always had it with your family.  I've never had it and I avoid it.  You have decisions to make about your future that have nothing to do with me."

He could see it all register with her.  He could see her accept each of his statements as truth.  But he also saw a flicker of hope that was pure Francie.  And that was what urged him to bend his head and seek her lips.  He nibbled gently, his conscious mind taunting him, asking why he was torturing himself with something he couldn't have.

He wanted just a little of what Francie could give.

Her hands uncurled and he felt the heat of her fingers through his sweater.  Each one was slender, and the touch of her fingertips playing on his chest changed the gentle nibbles to a heated tongue-kiss no one could interrupt.

Francie could feel the taut strength of Noah's muscles through his sweater.  She could also feel the teasing tips of hair that told her he wore no T-shirt underneath.  She splayed her fingers wide and dug her fingers into the sweater.  He groaned, and she did it again.

Noah might not have known attachment, he might not seek it, but that didn't mean he didn't want it or need it.  He was a contradiction.  Gentle yet hard, removed yet caring.  Maybe his hard, removed side was his defense.

If he didn't want to get involved, then why was he kissing her like this?  Was purely physical pleasure enough for him?  It would never be enough for her.  Yet she was so lost when he touched her, when he kissed her...

Noah abruptly ended the kiss and backed away from her hands.  His eyes were glazed with unfulfilled desire and his breaths were harsh and quick.

She pulled in a few deep breaths, then shook her head as she looked up and saw he was again composed and in control.  "You confuse me, Noah.  And you're right.  I don't need any more confusion right now.  You do what you have to do.  I'll get on with my life."

Emotion she couldn't decipher flickered in his eyes and made the pulse along his jawline jump rapidly.  "Does that mean you're going back to McIntosh?"

"You mean skating."

"They're one and the same," Noah said grimly.

"No, they're not.  And that's the problem.  I need more information before I make a decision.  Instead of sitting still and waiting for something to happen, I'm going to make things happen."  Picking up a foot-high stack of napkins, she headed for the snack bar.  She knew exactly what she was going to do first.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Francie sat in the student union building on the Shippensburg University campus.  She'd stopped in to see a friend of her mother's who taught some of the required courses for early education students.  Last night she'd googled  requirements online.  If she attended college full-time, if she took the maximum number of credits, including summer sessions, she could have her diploma in three years.  She sighed.  Without a job, did she have enough to live on for three years?  She thought about the inheritance her grandmother had left her so she could pursue her career.  Her parents could have used that money to buy a larger house.  Her brothers could have worked less and studied more to get through college. 

The inheritance was almost gone now.  If, by some miracle, Noah didn't sell to developers and she could work and go to college part-time, did she have the stamina to do both for seven or eight years?  She could just use up her savings outright.  But that didn't seem like a wise decision.  As a teacher, she would have a career for life.  It didn't depend on her physical ability, her lack of injuries, or her youth.  She could spend her days with children, something she loved to do.

Her last conversation with Brent the night before she left New York played loud and clear in her mind.

Brent had challenged her.  "What else do you know, Francie?  Skating has been your life.  Get back on the ice with me for intensive training and I have no doubt we'll be going to the next Olympics."

She'd picked up on his word of choice.  "And what if you do have doubts again?  What if we flub a competition?  What if practices go sour?  You bailed out last time, Brent.  How do I know you won't do it again?"

He'd looked uncomfortable but replied, "You'll have to take my word for it.  Just as you'll have to trust me to lift you and throw you and catch you."

Last night, Francie had awakened in the middle of a dream where she was standing before an applauding crowd.  If she trained with Brent again, if they went to the next Olympics, if they won a medal and even if they didn't, was the next step to turn professional?  Did she want a life of traveling and touring?

Or was it time to put down roots?

Noah didn't have roots.  Did he wake up in the dead of night wondering which city he was in?  That had happened to her often.  The only constants had been her skates and her training schedule.  And Brent.

Checking her watch, she gathered up her purse.  She'd stayed away from Noah yesterday after they returned from New York.  This morning she'd started her campaign to get things moving.  She wasn't finished with Noah Gordon.  He was still in Gettysburg.  She could still convince him not to sell the rink.  But she needed some information first.

Taking out her phone, she jabbed in the number she'd found this morning online.  A Richmond exchange. When Craig answered, her heart beat faster.  She wanted straight answers.  What if Craig wouldn't give them?

"Craig.  It's Francie Piccard.  Remember me?  From the rink in Gettysburg?"

There was a moment's silence then, "Sure, Francie.  How are you?"

"Fine.  I, ah, Noah Gordon is in town."

Craig went silent for a moment.  "You must hate me."

"Hate you?  I don't understand."

He paused.  "Exactly why did you call?"

"Because I want to convince Noah not to sell the rink.  And I thought you might have an idea how I can do that."

"Francie, it's because of me he has to sell the rink.  He didn't tell you that?"

Astonished by the news, she tried to absorb it.  Finally, she said, "No.  He said he needed the cash flow for the other rinks.  Craig, what happened?  You and I worked together to pull the rink out of the red--"

"You worked, Francie.  I went along for the ride."

She didn't know what to say to that, either.  There was something in Craig's voice now she'd never heard before.  Regret?  Sadness?  "Are you okay?  Noah said you were."

"Thanks to Noah, I'm putting my life back together."

"Maybe I shouldn't have called you.  I didn't mean to pry.  I just thought you might have some ideas to convince Noah--"

"What do you think of him?"

"He's...a fine man."

"Francie?"

"I, uh, sometimes, he's hard to read."

"So you really don't know what happened."

She sighed.  "Noah won't discuss you."

"Noah saved my life."

Craig's statement stopped the air in her throat.

Before she could ask any questions, he went on.  "Being out of town so much destroyed my family life.  I worked harder and harder to give more to my wife and kids, to make up for all the time I wasn't there.  My wife didn't want the money...she wanted me.  But I couldn't see that.  The longer I was gone, the guiltier I felt, the more money I spent."

"Craig, you don't have to tell me this."

"I know, but talking about it helps me keep things in perspective." 

"All right."

"I started gambling, and when I couldn't pay my debts, I started drinking.  I embezzled money from our company."

She let out a small gasp.

"Yeah.  That was pretty low considering my friendship with Noah.  But I couldn't see another way out.  I had loan sharks at my door."

"Oh, Craig."

"My wife left with the kids, and Noah and our accountant caught the problem with our books.  I was at the bottom of a pit."  He paused.  "But Noah didn't leave me there.  He should have, but he didn't.  He put me into a rehab facility.  Then he bought me out and helped me get on my feet again."

Noah must have felt such a sense of betrayal.  No wonder he didn't want another partner.  Yet he surely understood the meaning of friendship and loyalty.  "You're okay now?"

"I'm working on it.  I have a good job.  I'm working on getting my wife and kids back.  But I owe it all to Noah."

Her feelings for Noah seemed to expand and overtake her heart.  She relished the sensation, then asked the question she needed to ask.  "Does Noah have to sell the Gettysburg rink?"

"That's a tough question.  Our company...Noah's company is financially  solvent despite what I did, despite his buying me out.  But he's at his limit.  Noah likes safeguards and he doesn't have any right now.    I know you're turning a profit at your Roller-Fun now, but it's peanuts compared to the other rinks because of its being in the red for so many years."

Francie absorbed the information Craig had given her.  "All right, I guess I'm asking if we could wait for a buyer who's willing to keep the rink going."

"I'd say that's probably feasible if there's not an unexpected crisis.  But I'm sure Noah sees this as a pure business decision."

"I'm trying to change that."

"Good luck.  Noah can be..."

"Stubborn?" she filled in.

Craig chuckled.  "Among other things.  But he's a helluva good guy."

Craig had confirmed something that Francie had known deep-down.  "Thank you for telling me all this.  It helps me understand Noah better."

Craig's tone was curious.  "You want to understand him?"

"Uh, it helps in dealing with him."

"I see."

She was sure Craig suspected there was something more going on than business.  She had to admit to herself there was.  But for now, she'd make business the priority.

Francie planned during the drive back to the rink, building on ideas she'd already considered.  She'd try this one last strategy to make Noah see what the rink meant to the community.  She might not be able to convince him not to sell it, but she could still possibly convince him to sell it to someone interested in a rink.

She hurried through the lobby, searching for him as she went.  He stood at the snack bar, cup of coffee in hand, looking so good she had to swallow hard.  His gray  slacks seemed custom-made to fit.  The crisp white shirt and tie proclaimed him a consummate businessman.  But the rolled up sleeves gave him a touch of casualness, taking the edge off of the professional severity.

His eyes were hooded as he stared across the room at an inconsequential spot on the wall.  He didn't look altogether awake.  Was he having as many sleepless nights as she was?  For the same reasons?

He heard her approach, his gaze shifting from the wall to her sweater and jeans.  "New uniform?" he asked, a flicker of something she couldn't name sparking his eyes.

"I had a stop to make this morning.  I have tights and a skirt in the lounge."

"I wasn't criticizing."

She had to quit analyzing every word that passed between them.  "I know."  She smiled uncertainly, hoping to recapture an ease between them again.  "I have a favor to ask you."

He gave her half of a grin.  "Should I fortify myself with breakfast first?"

"You don't usually eat breakfast." 

He cocked his head, as if surprised she'd noticed.  "Neither do you.  The only difference is that I like my cups of before-lunch coffee with caffeine, you don't."

Okay, so they were learning each other's personal habits and preferences.  It happened when people worked together.  Trying to be nonchalant so he didn't guess that the future of the rink depended on his granting her a favor, she poured a cup of decaf and added cream.

He was watching her carefully, every move, every breath.  She wanted to tell him she respected and admired what he'd done for Craig.  But she didn't think he'd appreciate her knowing.

She blew on the edge of the coffee cup before she took a sip.  Noah watched her lips.  She thought of kissing him again, the taste of coffee on their tongues...  Before warm color could stain her cheeks, she set her cup on the counter.  "Don't sell the rink until after February fourteenth."

"That's the favor?"

She nodded.

He again stared at that spot on the wall.  "I was thinking about leaving at the end of the week."

"No!"  Her adamant protest surprised her as much as him.  "You can't.  Valentine's Day is less than two weeks away.  You said you can run your businesses from here.  At least give me that much more time."