Tempting the Billionaire (8 page)

So, why were her accusatory words eating at him?

Then he thought of his dad, and a shiver of hair stood on the back of his neck.

Bingo! I think we have a winner.

Shane shrugged, tried to dismiss the thought. But he couldn’t. The truth was he’d felt
exactly
the kind of betrayal Crickitt was feeling right now. He knew too well the consequences of love unreciprocated. And if his father was here, and Shane blurted out those same words, they’d ring as true and hit as hard.

The fact was his dad couldn’t handle losing his mom, and after had turned into one rough, mean sonofabitch. Since his father’s death, he’d struggled to reconcile his father’s accusations. Surely, the man had known what happened when Shane was a kid was an accident. All Shane wanted back then was to hang with his friends. How was he supposed to know that the one day he left his mother unattended she’d have a seizure?

“Shane?”

He jerked out of his thoughts and focused on Crickitt’s curly head peeking through his door.

“Didn’t you hear me knock?” she asked.

Shane busied his hands stacking the notes back into his wire in-basket. He muttered an apology and put on a fake smile. “Come in.”

“Is something wrong?” She scanned his face, her brow furrowing.

“Oh, uh…headache,” he lied. He never traipsed down briar-filled memory lane. Not at home, and certainly not at work. Thankfully, Crickitt interrupted his full-on nosedive. He could practically smell the ozone burning around him.

“Lucky you.” Crickitt clapped her hands and rubbed them together Mr. Miyagi style. “I can help.”

“With what?” he asked as she crested his desk.

“Your headache, silly.”

“Right.” His imaginary headache, which, ironically, was developing this very instant.

Crickitt placed her hands on each of the arms of his chair and spun him to face her. As she hovered close, he couldn’t escape the sugary scent of her. His mouth watered. She didn’t look like a woman who’d minutes ago gone a few rounds with her scumbag ex. Her eyes were bright and clear, her face relaxed.

She leaned in, feathering his hair away from his temples and placed the first two fingers of each hand on either side of his head. Her touch was expert, tantalizing. He felt her breath on his forehead as she muttered, “You are going to thank me
so hard
.” His gaze traveled to her lips, where she wore the most adorable cheeky grin. He forced his eyes away from her mouth before he hauled her into his lap and kissed her senseless.

Then a strangled groan escaped his lips.

Speaking of hard.

“Told you,” she said.

Her voice sounded a mile away. Probably because all he could hear was the thundering of his blood supply as it traveled from his brain to his lap. He should tell her, or at least avert his eyes. But no amount of self-talk enabled him to look away.

Either she’d purposely undone it, or a button had wriggled free of its closure, because when she’d leaned over him, her shirt gapped open, giving him an eyeful. He clamped on to the armrests on his chair, eyes delving into all the smooth skin laid out before him like rolling fields and amber waves of grain. He had no idea of the bevy of femininity she’d been hiding beneath those poly-cotton shirts of hers. But now he had proof.

Two handfuls of C-cup proof.

Crickitt continued to caress his temples, completely unaware that with each stroke, she sent his blood pressure rising.

Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to think of something,
anything
, else, but the persistent image of her breasts encased in a—God help him—black lace bra had burned into his retinas and was currently playing on the screen of his eyelids.

“Better?” she asked.

“Mm-hm,” he grunted, wondering if steam was billowing from his ears.

“Give it five minutes.” Her voice was low, husky,
sexy
. She slid her hands away to rearrange his hair, the innocuous touch sending a drove of blazing hormones straight to the Promised Land.

He spun out of her touch and promptly pulled his chair to his desk to hide his now obvious reaction to her.

“You look better already,” she said, propping her hands on her hips.

The opening in her shirt was far less exaggerated but no less erotic.

“Thank you,” he said, finally finding his voice. It took every ounce of willpower he owned to keep his eyes on her face. She’d gone beyond driving him crazy, he was there. Fit-me-with-a-straitjacket-and-call-me-Patsy mad about her. But what, exactly, could he do about it? She was standing in his
office
. He was in no position to act on any of his impulses.

She turned to the guest chair and lifted a manila folder. “I didn’t come in here to massage your head, believe it or not.”

Or sleep with me
, he thought numbly. “Of course not,” he said, grateful he hadn’t blurted out the thought. “What do you have for me? I mean, to give me? I mean…to show me.” He pointed at the folder rather than attempt to rephrase.

“MajicSweep notes from this afternoon,” Crickitt said, smiling, blessedly clueless to the lust-monster hiding beneath his desk.

“Hey, okay. Great. Thank you,” he bumbled, his brain still off-line.

“You’re welcome.”

He sensed an ellipsis. He hoped she didn’t bring up her phone conversation. If she started sharing, some of his discombobulated thoughts might accidentally burble to the surface.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, gesturing toward his office door. “I do have a few things to prepare before the meeting.”

“Oh.” She glanced at the door, back at him. “Of course you do. Sorry to interrupt.” She waved her hands in a flustered manner as she walked away, making him feel like a complete jackass.

Which he was.

“Crickitt?” he called after her.

She turned, raising her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“You’re a lifesaver,” he said.

She smiled. “Glad I could help.”

“I mean it,” he mumbled, flitting his eyes away. She’d reached into the muck and pulled him out, fished him from the refuse floating in the dingy waters of his soul. It was no small feat, and she hadn’t even been trying. And there was no way to tell her that without sounding certifiable. So instead, he pointed at his scalp. “Good as new.”

“Well, if it comes back, you know where to find me,” she said, then stepped out of his office.

He shook his head and opened the folder on his desk. “Yeah,” he muttered to himself, “I do.”

T
he afternoon meeting with “Team Townsend” went smoothly.

And Shane had successfully pulled out of the cloud fogging his brain earlier. Not that Crickitt was ever a far-off thought. He’d seen her blurry figure rushing down the hall a couple of times. It’d taken some doing to focus on the projects littering his desk, but once he dove in, thoughts of his father receded into the distance, leaving him feeling more in control than he’d been earlier.

“’Night,” Crickitt called as she passed by his office.

Shane’s eyes went to the clock.
Six already?

“Wait!” He thrust out of his chair and walked over to her, trying to come up with a valid reason for what he was about to ask. “Are you available this evening?”

She stopped in front of his office, eyes widening as her hand went to her chest. “I’m sorry?” she asked, trying to act natural while clutching the front of her shirt for dear life.

He pretended not to notice, it was the least he could do, but the relentless vision of her cleavage snapped into his memory all the same.
Sexual harassment suit, here we come.

“I didn’t have a chance to go over Lori LaRouche’s account with you earlier.” He palmed his neck in embarrassment. First eavesdropping, then looking down her shirt. What was he, fifteen?

“Oh.” Crickitt’s forehead bunched as she looked over at her darkened office. “I didn’t expect to work late. I sort of made plans.”

With whom? Her ex? He clenched his jaw at the idea of her with that bozo.

“I guess I can reschedule,” she said, reaching for her phone.

“No, don’t.” Shane pushed her phone aside. He’d asked her to stay under the guise of work when what he really wanted was to be near her a little longer. Even for a useless fifteen-minute meeting. It was selfish. Dangerous. Like picking a fight with Temptation and betting on himself to lose.

“No need to change your plans,” he said, sorry the second he said it. He tucked his hands into his pockets, trying to look nonchalant.

“If you’re sure?” She held up her phone again. “It’s just drinks with a friend.”

A male friend?
Worry ate at him as he considered that upsetting possibility.

“Thank you. I’m sure.” But he wasn’t sure. About anything. He shooed her off anyway. “Go. Enjoy.”

Sending him a tentative wave, she headed into the empty reception area. If not for the guard on the door after five p.m., he would have walked her down. But the afternoon had sent his normally reined emotions all over the place as it was. It was probably better he stayed put.

He stood over his desk and blew out a long-suffering sigh. Where he would normally dig in with renewed vigor once the building was quiet, tonight he found himself distinctly unmotivated.

Making a snap decision, he picked up the desk phone and speed dialed a number. His cousin answered on the third ring.

“Wanna grab a beer?” Shane asked.

“Who is this?” Aiden asked. Then a smile in his voice added, “Name the place.”

Crickitt picked the greasy wings-and-fries joint near her apartment instead of a wine bar or equally stuffy atmosphere. She’d been spoiled lately with catered lunches, breakfast quiche from the high-end cafeteria, and caramel soy milk lattes from an in-house espresso machine. Crickitt worried she was losing touch with her less-refined self, who indulged in flat beer and gnawed chicken directly from the bone.

“I almost didn’t make it tonight,” Crickitt said to Sadie after they decided what to order. “Shane asked me to stay late. No wonder he’s a billionaire. He’s a complete workaholic.”

There it was, her attempt to segue into,
By the way, I jumped him the other night, and this morning he caught me staring at his second in command.

But Sadie didn’t bite. “What happened to your shirt?”

Crickitt looked down where a not so strategically placed paperclip held her shirt closed. “I lost a button.” Thankfully, she had discovered the button missing before the Team Townsend meeting this afternoon. To think how close she’d come to flashing her boss. She
so
did not need the added pressure. As it was, her attraction for him was teetering on a thumbtack’s edge. Thankfully, Shane’s killer headache kept his eyes tightly shut. She didn’t need him thinking she was a shameless hussy on top of everything else.

“Last week, we went to Columbus for an account, then back to his home office to work until midnight,” Crickitt said, attempting to steer the conversation back to her brewing confession.

Sadie sighed.

Crickitt slouched in the uncomfortable wooden booth. “I give. What’s wrong?”

Sadie met her eyes, and Crickitt felt the force of her anguished expression all the way down to her trouser socks. Her best friend looked like she might burst into tears in the middle of Wings n’ Things.

“Aiden saw her the other day,” Sadie said, her voice barely audible over the bar hubbub.

“Who?”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Who do you think?”

Like her, Crickitt knew Aiden was recently divorced. “His ex?”

Sadie nodded.

“That happens,” Crickitt said carefully. She and Ronald got together several times after their split, either to discuss division of property or exchange items mixed up in the boxes when she moved out.

“Do you think he still loves her?” Sadie asked.

Crickitt would do anything to comfort her friend. Anything except lie to her. Aiden and his former spouse could be reconciling right this minute for all she knew. Marriage inextricably linked two people. As much as she hated to admit it, if Ronald begged her back during the painful and emotionally draining separation, Crickitt would have said yes. At the time, the familiarity of even an unhappy marriage would have been more appealing than the great unknown. Now she couldn’t even imagine being with him, knowing what she knew.

“I don’t know,” Crickitt said softly.

The waitress brought a pitcher of beer and filled two glasses. Sadie studied her lap until she was gone.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Crickitt asked.

“We have a connection.”

Wow. That was almost…romantic. And coming from her tough-talking friend, a little frightening.

“I don’t want to lose him,” Sadie said, her voice cracking.

Crickitt reached for her friend’s hand over the table. The gesture must have snapped Sadie out of her melancholy. She blinked several times as if coming out of a trance.

Sadie raised an eyebrow. “I think I need a drink.”

They hoisted their mugs and, in a tradition years old, banged them together and agreed, “Toasts are lame.”

Half the contents gone, Crickitt refilled both their glasses.

“Is that shirt…pink?”

Crickitt tucked her chin to examine her wardrobe. “Um…peach. I think. Why?”

“You usually wear neutrals. You look really pretty. Girly.”

Crickitt shrugged. “Thanks.”

“Okay, Kitty-cat,” Sadie said, the only person on the planet allowed to call her by that ridiculous name. “You called me. Spill it.”

Well, bringing up Shane now would just be insensitive. Sadie was uncharacteristically torn up over his cousin. Before she could speak, their food arrived, a BBQ chicken pizza and plate of fries smothered in cheese sauce. Crickitt moved a slice of pizza to her plate to cool.

“I’m waiting,” Sadie said.

She’d have to tell her something…and she knew just what. With a wince, she blurted, “Ronald called me today.”

“What the hell did he want?” Sadie spat. “Lose his balls again?” She snorted and munched on a fry. On anyone else it would have been unattractive.

“He—uh…” Wow. She didn’t expect this to be so difficult to say out loud. “He told me he missed me and said he made a mistake.”

Sadie sat slack-jawed, half of a French fry in one hand. And that wasn’t the worst of it.

“He wants us to get back together. And start a family.”

Aiden took a slow sip of his beer, taking care to line it up on the square cardboard coaster on the bar.

Shane stared down at his own, unable to take a drink. “When did you find out?”

“On the way over. They don’t know for sure. But all of her symptoms are like they were.”

Aiden’s mother had been suffering from cancer on and off for the last five years. Until now, she’d been in remission for eight months.

“She’s going to see her doctor tomorrow.” He shrugged.

“Maybe it’s not back,” Shane said carefully.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Aiden took another drink of his beer.

Shane wasn’t buying his own empty reassurance. If Uncle Mike and Aunt Kathy told Aiden, chances are they already knew the worst and were planning on breaking it to him in person tomorrow.

“If Mom’s sick again,” Aiden said, “Harmony’s coming back.”

The walls of the bar practically shook from that bombshell. “What do you mean ‘coming back’?” Shane asked. When Aiden had divorced, Shane had been tempted to throw a parade in his honor. He hoped his cousin wasn’t contemplating getting involved with her again. If he did, he’d be setting himself up like a ten pin.

Aiden angled a glance at him. “Mom doesn’t know we’re divorced, Shane.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because we didn’t want her worrying herself sick. Literally.” Aiden’s eyebrows slammed together.

Shane worked to process the new information. Aunt Kathy may have cancer again,
and
still believed Aiden and Harmony were lawfully wedded? Worse, Harmony might actually worm her way back into Aiden’s life?

“She’s not living with me.”

Thank God for that.

“I called Harmony. She’s agreed to meet us at the doctor’s office tomorrow.” Aiden’s face twisted. “She’s going to be around a lot if this doesn’t shake out the way we hope.”

“What about Crickitt’s friend? I thought you two were hitting it off.”

He didn’t miss the flash of guilt on his cousin’s face. “I have to do what’s best for my mom right now, Shane.”

Selflessness. One of Aiden’s finest qualities. Shane spent a lifetime arming himself against that kind of vulnerability, and here Aiden was, putting himself last with hardly a second thought. It was admirable…and frustrating.

“Have you talked to Sadie yet?” Shane asked, wondering,
Does Crickitt know?

“Not yet.” Aiden shifted on the bar stool.

After a moment, Shane couldn’t help but mutter, “It’s not good, man.”

“Right, because you have so much experience seeing relationships through,” Aiden snapped.

Shane started to argue but decided against it. What Aiden said was harsh, but it was also the truth.

“Sadie and I just met. Do you think she’s going to stick around while I’m scrambling to help Dad care for Mom? Think she’ll come with me to the waiting room while Mom has chemo? Do you think Sadie wants to be around the drugs, the sickness…the utter depression of watching someone die?” On that final word, Aiden’s voice cracked. He brushed the heels of his hands over his eyes, then polished off his beer.

Shane gave his cousin some space, signaling for the bartender to bring a refill.

Aiden had made a good point. And he’d probably prefer to stop making it. If the news was bad, who could blame Sadie for walking away? And knowing Aunt Kathy, she would take the news of Aiden’s divorce—and the fact that Aiden had lied to her for the last several months—hard. Aiden was right. His mother didn’t need the stress.

Shane opened his mouth to change the subject to how well Angel was doing on the Townsend project, but “Crickitt kissed me” tumbled out instead.

Aiden’s mug hit the bar with a thud. “No shit? When? Why?”

“Last Friday. And what do you mean,
why
?”

“I thought you had this ‘I don’t have sex with my assistants’ rule you follow.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Yeah. You do. You need to loosen up. It’s okay to give yourself a break sometimes.”

Did Crickitt see him that way? Some stiff, stuffed shirt who sat rigidly still while she moved her luscious mouth over his?

“I know you like her. From the second you pushed past me at the club,” Aiden said, stabbing the bar top with one finger, “I knew.”

“Well, it was an accident. I don’t even think she meant to do it,” Shane said, suddenly worried by how true that sounded. “We agreed to keep things professional for the good of our working relationship.”

“For the good of your— Do you hear yourself, man? When was the last time you let yourself have a little fun, anyway? Even when you dated what’s-her-name—”

“Sara,” Shane supplied.

“—you were miserable. Already, Crickitt’s had a positive effect on you. You’ve been acting like the old you instead of Robo-Shane.”

Shane pulled a face, not sure which name to be more offended by. “The old me?”

Aiden gestured around them. “You’re in a bar. On a weekday.”

He had a point. Since Crickitt started working at August Industries, he’d felt more relaxed than he had in years. He’d thought at first it was because of her efficiency, but lately he could see it was something more.

“Well, she’s good for you, whatever she’s doing,” Aiden said.

“We’re not doing anything.”

“Whatever,” Aiden said, his lips quirking.

They sipped their beers in silence for a few minutes before Shane spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Aiden nodded.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” It was the most useless sentiment ever, but what else could he say?

“Thanks,” Aiden said. He sounded sincere.

Shane found himself wanting to bring up Crickitt again. But hadn’t Aiden just proved there were more important things going on in the world than the flirtation Shane was having with an attractive co-worker? Besides, if they did broach the topic again, what did Shane have to add? What he knew about relationships could fit in the bowl of peanuts resting at his left elbow.

He turned his attention to the televisions blaring overhead and commented on the game. Aiden cheered his approval, content to focus on anything but the topic at hand. Shane obliged, settling back into his chair and whooping alongside him.