Tempting the Billionaire (11 page)

S
unlight streamed through a maze of tree branches down to a sprawling red-and-white-checkered blanket in a clearing near the water. A traditional woven basket sat in its center, and next to it a sweating ice bucket holding a bottle of wine or champagne.

“See what your slogging through the wilderness has earned you?” Shane sat and reached for the bottle.

“A bit early for cocktails, isn’t it?” she asked. “If we finish that I’ll never make it back to the car.”

There was a sound of cracking plastic as he twisted the cap. “From grape juice?” He spun the label toward her. Sure enough, the contents of the bottle were an innocuous blend of white grapes and carbonation.

He handed her a flimsy plastic wine cup and she drank, the bubbles dancing on her tongue, sweet and tart.

“Next you’re going to tell me you don’t want to eat lobster and caviar,” he said.

Crickitt fought the grimace dying to produce itself on her face. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Or picky. “I’ll eat whatever you brought,” she said diplomatically.

Shane narrowed his eyes, pausing with one hand in the basket. “Really?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure which of them she was trying to convince. Oceanic arthropods and eggs from a fish made her stomach clench, and not in a good way.

He lifted her offering out of the basket. A cellophane-wrapped sandwich sat in the center of his palm.

“Ham and cheese?” she asked.

“Peanut butter and jelly,” he answered.

Along with PB&J, he’d packed potato chips and carrot sticks with ranch dressing for dipping. Dessert was a container filled with chocolate chip cookies. Crickitt expected to like them—they were chocolate chip cookies, after all, nature’s perfect food. But “like” wasn’t a strong enough word for the moist, chewy morsels.

Swallowing the last bite, she reached for another, holding it between them. “Where did you get these?”

“There is a bakery in New York City called—”

“You had these shipped from New York City?” She eyed the cookie with newfound reverence.

“No. But it is their recipe.”

She took another bite, savoring the subtle nutty flavor beneath the bold richness of the dark chocolate. “Think you could ask your house staff to whip up a batch for me?”

He chuffed. “I baked those myself, thank you very much.”

She couldn’t square the image of Shane in an apron with flour on his hands with the sleek, suited powerhouse he portrayed at work. And yet, the homier vision of him held just as much sex appeal.

“You’re full of surprises,” she said.

“My mom taught me how to bake.” He fell quiet the way he did whenever the subject of his parents came up, then turned his head and squinted into the sunlight.

“Well, you’re lucky, my mom is a terrible baker,” she said, smoothing over the awkward moment. “I once had a birthday cake made entirely of stacked Little Debbie Oatmeal Pies.”

Shane smiled.

“Which would have been fine, had she taken them out of their plastic wrappers first.”

He had a great laugh, and she couldn’t help joining in, feeling a mix of relief and pride that she’d cheered him up.

She polished off the last bite of her cookie, unnerved when she noticed him staring at her mouth. She touched her lips self-consciously. “Do I have chocolate on my face or something?”

“Let me get it.”

Before she could wipe away the incriminating splotch, Shane stopped her hand. Leaning in, he swiped the corner of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, then covered it with a kiss. She allowed her eyes to slide shut, savoring the feel of his mouth as he repeated the action on the other side and then moved to her top lip, then the bottom.

Crickitt opened her eyes drowsily.

“Sorry,” he murmured, pulling away. “I lied. You didn’t have chocolate on your face. I just wanted to kiss you.” He hoisted an eyebrow. “Hope you’re not mad.”

Mad? Not quite. Drunk from his potent kisses, maybe. Wildly turned on, definitely. She found Shane downright irresistible whenever he dropped his guard, which he seemed to do a lot around her. At work and with clients she’d noticed this “consummate professional” side of his personality. But when he was with her, away from office obligations, he was relaxed. Open.

Shane rested his elbow on one elevated knee, demonstrating her point. His eyebrow lifted the slightest bit, and she knew he was about to tease her. “Your move,” he said.

The lingering taste of Shane and chocolate mingled on her lips. And she wanted more.

Lifting from her cross-legged position on the blanket, Crickitt knelt in front of him, holding his eyes with hers. Heart leaping to her throat, she leaned in and kissed him. He returned her kiss with gentle pressure. Scooting closer, she clutched the hair at his nape and captured his lips again.

When his warm fingers gripped her waist, her breath hitched. Shane moved his hand away. “Sorry.”

She moved it back, continuing to tease him with her tongue and convince him he had nothing to be sorry for. He didn’t need to be told twice. Wrapping her in his arms, he hauled her onto his lap where he continued his slow, intentional exploration of her mouth.

She’d missed this. Mutual attraction. Being held, pampered, adored. Being kissed by a man because he wanted her, rather than out of a sense of marital duty. She’d forgotten the excitement of being new to someone. The way it caused her heart to swell against her rib cage as if it were ready to burst. Settling onto Shane’s lap, she enjoyed the luxury of it, allowing her own hands to travel. The sounds of nature slowly grounded her, and she ended the lengthy lip-lock in favor of much-needed oxygen.

He peered at her under thick, dark lashes, his lips parted and damp from her kisses. She moved in for another taste—she couldn’t help it—and shifted on his lap. Then she tensed as his hard length pressed into her inner thigh. Drawing away, she met his eye.

Shane’s lips tipped into a rueful grin. “You weren’t supposed to notice that.” He clasped her hips.

“Kind of hard to miss.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I’m glad I hired you,” he said, tucking a curl behind her ear.

His light comment brought with it a heavy reality. Crickitt winced.

“Poor choice of words,” Shane said. He slid another curl away from her eye and watched her for a second. “Your brain’s working some overtime, there.”

Overtime. Another poorly chosen word. It was easy to suspend reality while they were hidden beneath a cage of trees, the waterfall splashing behind them drowning out any pragmatic argument. But what about after? When she returned to being his subordinate and he was in charge of giving her an annual review? What about her co-workers, who would soon notice their lingering gazes or whisper about how often she and Shane were in one another’s offices?

Instead of denying the obvious, Crickitt fixed him with a look and asked the question marinating in her brain. “What are we doing?”

This conversation came sooner than he preferred. Like never. Never would have been better.

Shane chased her question around his head and tried to figure out what, exactly, she meant by it. Was she trying to backtrack? Did she think they were moving too fast? Was she trying to define what happened, or what was going to happen?

Crickitt faced the falls, chewing her lip and arriving at a God-only-knew-what conclusion.

He’d been hell-bent on keeping his attraction to her to himself…until last night, anyway. Crickitt tearing at his clothes and devouring his mouth had him tossing his restraint out with his good sense. And now that he knew how good it felt to be close to her, to hold her, to kiss that luscious pink mouth of hers…well, he had no interest in backing off. But he wouldn’t press forward if it wasn’t what she wanted.

Crickitt opened her mouth to speak, her eyebrows bowing.

Please don’t say you regret it.

“Is work going to be weird?” she asked.

Shane sighed, a sound of pure relief. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Something flashed in her eyes. Shane wished he could read her expressions, or her mind. That would be handy. It wasn’t as if he’d never had a conversation like this before. He preferred to outline expectations before getting involved with a woman. It was okay to have some fun, or in Crickitt’s case what he suspected would be
a whole lot
of fun, just as long as neither of them expected something permanent. Even if that’s what he wanted, he knew he couldn’t live up to the promise of forever.

He watched her for another beat, coming to an uncomfortable realization. She might say no. And wouldn’t that suck?

“Say it. Say whatever it is you’re thinking,” Crickitt said, clasping his hand. “Before I go nuts.”

He was thinking how he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to continue what they’d started. “Don’t worry about work,” he said instead.

Her eyes downcast, she stroked his hand in both of hers. “And outside of work?”

For a second, no words came. He knew what she was asking. She was asking if they would be exclusive, eventually move in together. Meet each other’s families, give Christmas gifts with both their names on them. He couldn’t continue to let her assume that’s where they were headed. If he were a different man, with a different past…but he wasn’t. And telling her would risk losing her, but she deserved to know.

“We’d keep it casual,” he hedged.

“Casual.” She dropped his hand, moved away from him as if being near him was suddenly undesirable.

His stomach sank.
Way to go, jerk.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea…” Shane swallowed thickly. There was no good way to say it. He’d just have to blurt it out and hope for the best. “I want to be with you, Crickitt.” He reached out to her with his eyes, too afraid if he touched her she’d recoil. “But I can’t…I’m not able to make any promises about the future.”

Shane pressed his lips together, wanting to take every word of it back. It was ugly and graceless. It was also the truth.

“I see,” she said, her voice hard.

She gave him a hot look. But not one filled with passion, more like fury. Or like she was attempting to burn a hole through his head using only the power of her mind.

“I don’t consider sex casual,” she said. “Ever.” She stood in a rush, and Shane jumped to his feet. She glared up at him as she spoke. “I’m good enough to sleep with, but not if messy feelings get involved? Sounds eerily like my marriage.”

Pain like a thousand sharp needles pierced his heart as he realized he’d not only hurt her, but hurt her in the same way her ex-husband had. The fact was Crickitt was good enough; it was Shane who was lacking. How could she not see that? “Let me rephrase—”

“Don’t bother.” Crickitt stood. “It’s better I know up front.”

It sounded far less noble when she said it. But what choice did he have?

Shane gathered the picnic supplies while Crickitt folded the blanket in silence. He took it from her, carrying it down the trail as they walked back to the car. She didn’t speak, only trotted several feet ahead of him, eyes straight ahead.

Already he missed her closeness, her willingness to touch him, even casually. But he’d efficiently removed that possibility, and while disappointed, he shouldn’t have been surprised by her reaction. That he was only gave merit to what he’d told her. He was not equipped for a relationship.

At the car, he deposited the basket and blanket in the trunk before sliding onto the seat and shoving the key in the ignition. He didn’t start it, only sat there, watching the back of Crickitt’s head as she focused on a spot off in the distance.

Finally, the words that had been simmering in his gut during the walk back boiled over. “I’m sorry.”

She looked surprised to hear his voice. “Like you said last night, I started it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He’d played this all wrong. Crickitt wasn’t some shallow girl looking for a fling. And he hoped she didn’t think that’s how he saw her. She was transparent and vulnerable. Honest and complex. Qualities he wasn’t sure how to handle…especially when rolled into one woman. Was it any wonder he’d royally blown it back there? “I should have—”

“Shane? Let’s not autopsy what happened, okay? Monday things will be back to normal.”

He nodded, accepting the loss, and put the car in reverse.

Normal. Whatever the hell that was.

Pride goeth before the fall, Crickitt thought, recalling her reaction on Saturday. Like it or not, Shane was honest with her. And that was more than she could say for herself. Not that she’d been dishonest, per se, but she’d certainly been inconsistent. One minute, she’d climbed him like a cat on a curtain, the next she was oiling the lock on her chastity belt.

Shane breezed into her office, the scent of his aftershave whirling around her and causing Crickitt to swallow a lump of regret. Why did he have to look so good today? His sleeves were rolled casually to his elbows, showcasing corded forearms, and his face was shaved smooth.

It was torturous to think of what could have been, but she’d thought about it anyway, succumbing to a weekend’s worth of self-imposed manual labor. She’d been scrubbing her refrigerator’s shelves lamenting the action her prim lacy duvet
wasn’t
seeing. Then she’d shined every window inside and out and wished her muscles were sore for a far naughtier reason.

Shane folded the day’s agenda and stuffed it in his pocket. As if in tune with her thoughts he asked, “Do anything fun this weekend?”

You mean besides what I did with you?

“If you consider housework ‘fun,’” she said.

“Housework, huh? I baked.”

His comment brought with it thoughts of unrushed chocolate kisses…the ones that came from Shane’s lips rather than tiny foil wrappers. Her heart sped beneath her breast, desire taking the place of good sense.

“Baking is a great way to burn off sexual frustration. Like housework,” he added with a wink. Hoisting a thumb over his shoulder he said, “Pies and cookies in the break room.”

How did he do that? Look so disarming while admitting he’d entertained the same fantasies she’d had about him over the weekend. This was her chance.