Raashh Decisions (Xxan War Book 3) (13 page)

Sandy tried to brush away the feeling that she was being bought and paid for.
A kept woman.

“Is anything wrong, Miss Butler? Can I help you with anything else?”

“No. No thank you.” She hung up before she could call off their “meeting” for tonight.

Her thoughts troubled, Sandy looked up at the clock, startled, then rushed off to catch the train to work.

****

“I had really hoped to meet with Daveed.” Li Ross’s disappointment was palpable.

“It is no insult to you, Mr. Li,” Arren offered smoothly in the human elder’s own language. “My older brother is a genius in design, but business is my art.”

A slight tip of the oriental businessman’s head preceded his answer. “Of course. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.”

Arren’s typical Subdominant strength of patience was wearing thin. It was ten o’clock in the morning at the main office, and there was still no word from Sandy. Had she decided not to call him? Had he offended her or disappointed her already?

He sat at the table, calmly discussing prices and delivery dates for Li’s best silk, but his nerves jumped beneath the surface. An hour later, he stood and sealed the deal with a thumb print on the negotiation board and a handshake.

Finally, he was free to turn his handheld computer on again and check for messages. His heart skipped a beat or two at the sight of the new entry on his schedule. Betty had even flagged it for him.

As if I would miss it?

Sandy Butler: after 5:00 pm at Spice Industries

A smile pulled up at his lips. As soon as the meal Li had offered was over, Arren would have the shuttle pilot take him back to Spice.

“You seem to have gotten good news,” Li observed.

“A meeting I’d been hoping to arrange has fallen into place,” he explained in a half truth.

“Ah. We all have our strengths. Yours serve your family well.”

In this case, possibly. Raashh has never expected me to bind a female to me.

****

Sandy rushed off the train and up to street level. Of course she was late.
Story of my life.
Jason, the rat, had made sure she had work that “just had to be completed today”. She didn’t question that it had been his doing, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her rattled.

Rattled definitely described her state of mind. It was after six, and though she hadn’t given Arren’s secretary a time for her arrival, they’d probably anticipated her earlier than this.

Rain pounded against her rain slicker and made a rushing stream of the sidewalk and gutter. Though the weather report had called for rain, she hadn’t expected this downpour.

As if reinforcing that, she slipped and crashed to the ground. Sandy planted a hand on the slick pavement, panting in and out, waiting for the first slice of pain to pass.

Great. Just great.
I should go. I’m a mess.

Sandy chided herself for being shallow. Even if she had to go home to change, Arren was expecting her. She owed it to him to tell him she had to call their date off in person. Gingerly—and none too comfortably—she levered herself off the ground and limped toward the lobby of Spice Tower.

The security guard’s bored expression turned to a frown. “Can I help you, miss? Do you need me to call the staff physician for you?”

“Do I look that bad?” she quipped in return.

He didn’t reply to that.

“I have a meeting with Mr. Raashh.”

“Which Mr. Raashh?”

“Uh…”
There’s more than one at the company?
It wasn’t exactly a common name, she was sure. “Arren Raashh.”

“Name?” He focused on the screen before him, and the clacking of keys said he was checking Arren’s schedule.

He must be very important if the guards check before letting someone come up.

Or maybe they do that for everyone. Spice is a highly-guarded company.
In fact, they were a cornerstone client of the law firm she worked for, an account that only the senior partners worked with. She couldn’t be sure what a company like that had in place for security measures, but after the terrorist attacks, it was probably iron-clad.

“Sandy Butler.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, I am sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Butler.” He rushed out from behind the desk and pressed an Identi-chip into her hand. “This will clear you for the elevator. Mr. Raashh is on the thirtieth floor. Straight off the elevator. You can’t miss his office.”

His gaze went to her legs. “Uh… Are you
sure
you don’t want me to call the staff physician to take care of that knee first? It won’t be any trouble at all.”

Why did he keep saying that to her? Sandy glanced down at herself and winced at her ripped nylons and bleeding knee.
Oh. He’s probably afraid of a lawsuit.
“Thank you, but no. I’m sure there’s a restroom I can use to freshen up somewhere?”

“Mr. Raashh has one in his office.”

In his office? He must mean on that floor or in the office suite Arren shares with other employees.
She offered a smile. “Thank you. Thirtieth?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She made her way to the bank of elevators and searched the signs until she found the single one that accessed the twenty-seventh floor of the tower and above. Under the watchful eye of the guard, she used the Identi-chip to call the elevator and again inside to unlock the floor she needed.

Arren must be very important to work on a locked floor.
The image of the executive keeping a mistress niggled at her thoughts again.

The trip to the thirtieth floor was fast and smooth, without the typical inner ear discomfort that long elevator trips usually caused. She stepped off and started down the corridor as the guard had instructed.

An empty desk dominated a lush waiting room. The door beyond it read:

Arren Raashh

CEO, Spice Automotive

Vice President of Operations, Spice Industries

Very important doesn’t cover it. No wonder he thought I might be after his money. With titles like those, he’s swimming in it.

****

The phone on Arren’s desk rang, and he pounced on it. “Yes?” Too late, he realized he sounded harried.
I
am
harried.

But I shouldn’t sound it. It’s unbecoming.

“Front desk, sir. Your guest has arrived and is on her way up, Mr. Raashh.”

Arren breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“I offered to call the staff physician for the lady, but—”

“What? Why?”

There was a moment of silence, followed by hemming and hawing.

“Why?” he demanded.

“It looks like the lady took a fall in the rain and—”

“Send the physician up. Now.” Arren dropped the phone back on its cradle without waiting for an answer and bolted for the elevators.

Sandy startled at his headlong rush out his office door and dropped back a step. He came to a halt behind Betty’s desk and assessed her appearance. Sandy’s hair was damp and her rain slicker dripped water onto the imported offworld rug in his office suite.

Fuck the rug.

Her nylons were torn, and a trail of blood wound down her leg. She shifted, taking more of the weight off that foot.

She’s favoring the leg. Blast it!

Sandy straightened her rain slicker. “I should go home and change,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry, Arren.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

For what?
He didn’t understand her concern. “Don’t be silly.” He strode to her and lifted Sandy into his arms.

“You’ll be soaked,” she protested miserably.

“I can change clothing as well as you can.” He carried her through his office and to his private bathing chamber. “There is a robe on the hook here. Take off your wet clothing, and give them to me.”

The fact that she didn’t balk at the idea was heartening.

Sandy drew her coat off and handed it to him. Arren hung it on the furthest hook and reached to take her suit jacket. The cuffs were soaking wet, probably from her pushing herself up after her fall. Her blouse came next, similarly affected.

She lifted her injured leg to toe off her shoe, and Arren went to one knee and slipped it off for her. Sandy hesitated and settled that foot on the floor; she raised the other and offered it to him. Arren obliged her.

Her move to unfasten her skirt ended when he reached the hook and eye first. Sandy watched him slide the zipper down and unhook the waistband, and her scent teased at his senses. The skirt plummeted to the floor, sodden and dirty, and Sandy stepped out of it, releasing it to him.

Her panties were wet, and so were her pantyhose. Arren started sliding them off together. Her breathing went ragged, and her scent intensified.

Not now. The doctor is coming to treat her injury.

Arren removed the clothing, sliding it off each foot as she raised them in turn to aid him. That accomplished, he stood to reach for the robe.

Sandy wasn’t finished yet. She unfastened the front closure on her bra and peeled it away, releasing her lush breasts. Arren’s mouth watered to taste them.

The doctor is on his way.

She raised the bra and draped it over his shoulder in a blatant offer. His cock was hard and demanding.

The doctor!

Arren forced himself to wrap the robe around her, and Sandy pushed her arms through, though her expression questioned his wish to cover her.

I don’t want to cover her.

A knock at the door saved him the trouble of explaining. Sandy startled and pulled the robe closed around her body, and Arren took his time tying it shut for her. She snatched the bra from his shoulder and tossed it on one of the hooks. When she was covered, he took her by the arm and led Sandy to the plush sofa.

“Enter,” he shouted at last.

One of the human doctors Spice employed to care for their staff bustled in, took one look at Sandy, and tipped his head to her. “If you would?” He motioned to the sofa.

She sank to the surface of it. “It really isn’t that serious,” she sighed.

Arren shot her a look of warning. “Let the doctor care for you.”

Sandy nodded and uncovered her knee.

The doctor started asking questions about how she fell and where. He cleaned the cut, prompting a wince from Sandy.

In the meantime, Arren looked at the tags on her clothing and sent a message to Betty by computer, asking her to have something to replace them sent over immediately.

“What would you like to eat?” he interrupted the ongoing discussion.

“I’m hardly dressed for a restaurant, Arren,” Sandy replied with a tone that might be teasing.

The doctor placed a large self-stick bandage on her knee.

Arren smiled. “That goes without saying, but you must eat, so what would you like to eat?”

“Chinese? Japanese?”

“In specific?” he inquired.

“Well…sashimi? Tuna and salmon?”

Something I can eat as well. How considerate of her.
“Anything else?” Something told him she was holding back.

“Miso soup, please.”

He shot her a smile. “That’s better.” At least she hadn’t stated her wishes as a question this time.

She blushed deeply, and he focused on his computer. Betty had already responded that clothing was on the way, and he sent the request for food. He followed it with a promise that he wouldn’t bother her further that evening.

The reply came in moments.
Food is on its way, Mr. Raashh. Anytime you need me, just let me know.

With the money he was paying her, that would be true of any executive secretary, but Betty was more than that. The woman was middle-aged, widowed, and seemed to view Arren as the son she’d never had. She pampered him mercilessly.

Another message followed, proving that she knew him better than he wanted to admit.
Good luck with your lady friend. I hope your evening goes well.

In other words, she hopes I find a mate. Thank you, Betty.

Across the room, the doctor was preparing a hypo. Sandy pulled the oversize sleeve to her shoulder, baring her upper arm.

Arren’s heart stuttered. “What are you doing?”

The older man paused and looked his way. “The lady hasn’t had a tetanus shot for quite some time. For her safety, I should give her one.”

Arren grunted his agreement and went back to the keyboard, though he had no reason to. For some reason, he found watching the doctor inject the medicine into Sandy disturbing. Still, he was aware of the small sound of distress she made and tensed in response.

Calm down. It is for her safety. A female’s safety must always come first.

The injection accomplished, the doctor gave a few instructions about signs he considered a danger and took his leave with a tip of his head to her and then to Arren.

Arren, in the meantime, was busy committing the instructions to memory. As long as Sandy was his woman, it was his responsibility to see to her health and safety. It was a duty all Xxanian males took very seriously.

The door closed behind the doctor, and Sandy rubbed at the injection site, scowling. “I told you it wasn’t serious,” she grumbled.

Arren crossed the room to her and settled on the sofa. “You aren’t really going to hold seeing to your health and safety against me, are you?” If she would, there was little chance she would accept mating with him.

Sandy opened her mouth, closed it again, sighed, and then answered. “No. I suppose that would be ungrateful of me.”

He stroked his fingertips along her jaw line. “I don’t want you injured or sick, Sandy.”

She nodded and managed a weak smile. “I suppose you also want to make sure I don’t file suit or something like that.”

The undertone of hurt shocked him more than her words. “Why would you think something so ludicrous?” Too late, he realized being dismissive of her feelings wasn’t a good choice. Arren opened his mouth to apologize.