The CEO's Accidental Bride (8 page)

He'd be embarrassed in front of Ray Lambert. But then so would she. She'd be mortified if Ray—if
anyone—
knew what Zach was doing under the tablecloth.

“Arugula,” she blurted out.

“The risotto is delicious,” Susan offered helpfully.

Kaitlin tried to smile her thanks. But she wasn't sure if it quite came off, since she was gritting her teeth against Zach's sensual onslaught.

She balanced the heavy menu against the tabletop, holding it with one hand. Then she dropped the other to her lap, covering Zach's. “Stop,” she hissed under her breath. “Please.” The word came out on a desperate squeak.

His hand stilled. But then he turned it, meeting hers, and his thumb began a slow caress of her palm.

A new wave of desire flowed through her.

She could pull away anytime she wanted. But she didn't want to pull away. Lord help her, she wanted to savor the sensation, feel the raw energy pulse through her body. And when his hand turned back, and the caress resumed on her thigh, she didn't complain.

“The salmon,” he said decisively, closing his menu and setting it aside.

Susan pulled her menu against her chest, speaking over the top. “The dill sauce is to die for.”

Ray gave his wife's shoulder a quick, friendly caress. “It's beyond me why she doesn't weigh three hundred pounds.”

“I have a great metabolism,” Susan said, adding a self-
deprecating laugh. “I don't do nearly enough exercise to deserve all those desserts.”

Zach turned to Kaitlin, his fingertips still working magic as he spoke. “And what do you want?”

The double entendre boomed around them both.

Her gaze was drawn to the depths of his eyes, knowing there was no disguising her naked longing. “Risotto,” she managed to say.

“And for dessert?” He pressed more firmly against her inner thigh, his palm sliding boldly against her sensitized skin.

“I'll decide later.”

He gave a slow, satisfied smile, and a gleam of attraction turned his gray eyes to silver.

Just as she was tumbling completely and hopelessly under his spell, Lindsay's words came back to haunt her.
Do you think there's a slim possibility it was a distraction?

Oh, no.

He was doing it, again.

And she was falling for it, willingly, and
all over again.

Humiliation was like ice water to her hormones. She steeled her wayward desire, letting anger replace her lust.

“No dessert,” she told him sternly, dropping her hand to her thigh and firmly removing his.

“Crème brûlée,” said Susan. “Definitely crème brûlée for me.”

Zach's gaze slid to Kaitlin for a split second. But then he obviously decided to give up. Distraction was not going to work for him this time. His behavior was reprehensible, and her lapse in judgment was thoroughly unprofessional. What would it take for her to learn?

Thankfully, Susan launched into a story about a recent business trip to Greece.

Kaitlin forced herself to listen, responding with what she hoped were friendly and intelligent answers to Ray's and Susan's questions, then asking about their trip to London and their new ski chalet in Banff, as appetizers, dinner and then dessert were served.

Zach didn't touch her again, luckily for him. Because by the time the crème brûlée was finished, the check arrived, and Ray and Susan said their good-nights, Kaitlin's mood had migrated to full-on rage.

As the waiter cleared the last of the dishes, smoothing the white linen tablecloth, Lindsay and Dylan appeared.

Lindsay plunked herself next to Zach, the briefcase between them, while Dylan sat much more reluctantly across from Kaitlin.

“They stole your briefcase,” Lindsay said without preamble. “They
stole
your briefcase.”

Kaitlin had presumed that was what happened. She immediately turned an accusing glare on Zach. There was no need to voice the question, so she waited silently for his explanation.

“It was in my trunk,” he pointed out in his own defense. “
My
trunk.”

Lindsay opened her mouth, but Dylan jumped in before she could speak. His blue eyes glittered at Zach. “Seems there are some finer points of the law you may not have taken into account here.”

“They're
my
drawings,” Zach stated.

The waiter reappeared, and conversation ceased. “May I offer anyone some coffee?”

“A shot of cognac in mine,” said Lindsay.

“All around,” Zach added gruffly, making a circle motion with his index finger.

Kaitlin wasn't inclined to argue.

“They are
my
drawings.” Her words to Zach were stern as the man walked away.

“I paid you to make them,” he countered.

“You
both
paid her to make them,” Lindsay pointed out in an imperious tone.

“I wouldn't argue with her,” Dylan muttered darkly.

Lindsay shot him a warning look.

He didn't seem the least bit intimidated by her professorial demeanor as he stared levelly back. “I had a math teacher like you once.”

“Didn't seem to do you any good,” she retorted.

“You stole my briefcase!” Kaitlin felt compelled to bring everyone back to the main point. “Was this entire dinner a ruse?”

She shook her head to clear it. “Of
course
it was a ruse. You're despicable, Zach. If I hadn't told Lindsay you'd invited me here. And if she didn't have a very suspicious nature—”

“A
correctly
suspicious nature,” Lindsay pointed out to both men.

“—you'd have gotten away with it.”

“I was planning to put it back,” Dylan defended.

“I need to see the designs,” said Zach, not a trace of apology in his tone. “My company, your company, pretend all you like, but I'm the guy signing the check. And I'm the guy left picking up the pieces once your game is over.”

“That
game
happens to be my life.” She wasn't playing around here. If she didn't fix her career, she didn't have a job. If she didn't have a job, there was nobody to pay rent, nobody to buy food.

He brought his hand down on the table. “And whatever's left when the dust clears happens to be mine.”

Sick to death of the contest of wills, Kaitlin capitulated.

She waved a hand toward her briefcase. “Fine. Go ahead. There's nothing you can do to change them anyway. You don't like 'em, complain all you want. I will ignore you.”

Zach wasted no time in snagging the briefcase from the bench seat between him and Lindsay. He snapped open the clasps, lifted the lid and extracted the folded plans. He awkwardly spread them out on the round table.

Just then, the waiter arrived and glanced around for a place to set the coffee.

Zach ignored him, and the man signaled for a folding tray stand.

Kaitlin accepted a coffee. She took her cup in her hand, sipping it while she sat back to wait for Zach's reaction.

She suspected he'd be angry. Her designs called for some
pretty fundamental and expensive changes to his building. But a small part of her couldn't help but hope he'd surprise her.

Maybe he had better taste than she thought. Maybe he'd recognize her genius. Maybe he'd—

“Are you out of your ever-lovin' mind?” His gray eyes all but glowed in anger.

I
n the restaurant's parking garage, Lindsay twisted the key in the ignition of her silver Audi Coupe and pushed the shifter into Reverse. They peeled out of the narrow parking spot and into the driving lane.

“I suppose that could have been worse,” Kaitlin admitted as they zipped toward the exit from the underground.

Zach had hated the renovation designs. No big surprise there. But since they were in a public place, he couldn't very well yell at her. So, that was a plus. And she wouldn't change them. He could gripe as much as he liked about a modern lobby not being in keeping with his corporate image, but they both knew it was about money.

Lindsay pressed a folded bill into the parking lot attendant's hand. “He
stole
your briefcase.”

“I knew not seeing them was making him crazy,” said Kaitlin, still getting over the shock at this turn of events. “But I sure didn't think he'd go that far.”

Lindsay flipped on her signal, watching the traffic on the
busy street. “All that righteous indignation, the insistence on principles.”

“I know,” Kaitlin added rapidly in agreement. “The lectures, the protestations, and then wham.” She smacked her hands together. “He steals the drawings right out from under my nose.”

“I'm not a pirate,” Lindsay mocked as she quickly took the corner, into a small space in traffic. “Nobody in my family was ever a pirate.”

Kaitlin turned to stare at her friend. “What?”

“
We
have morals and principles.”

“Are you talking about Zach?”

“Zach didn't steal your drawings.”

“He sure did,” said Kaitlin.

“Dylan was the guy with the briefcase in his hands.”

“Only because Zach asked him to get it. Dylan's just being loyal.”

“Ha!” Lindsay coughed out a laugh.

“Linds?” Kaitlin searched her friend's profile.

Lindsay changed lanes on the brightly lit street, setting up for a left turn. “What?”

“I say again. Do you think you're getting a little obsessed with Dylan Gilby?”

“The man's a thief and a reprobate.”

“Maybe. But Zach's our problem.”

Lindsay didn't answer. She adjusted her rearview mirror then changed the radio station.

“I think Zach'll leave it alone now,” she said. “I mean, he's seen the drawings. He gave it his best—”

“You're changing the subject.”

“Hmm?”

Kaitlin gaped at her friend in astonishment. All this fighting was a ruse. “You've got a thing for Dylan.”

“I've got a thing for proving he's a pirate,” Lindsay stated primly, sitting up straight in the driver's seat, flipping on the windshield wipers. “It's an intellectual exercise.”

“Intellectual, my ass.”

“It's a matter of principle. Plus, the semester just ended, and I'm a little bored.”

Despite all the angst of the evening, Kaitlin couldn't help but laugh. “I think it's a matter of libido.”

“He's incredibly annoying,” said Lindsay.

“But he is kind of cute.” Kaitlin rotated her neck, trying to relieve the stress.

“Maybe,” Lindsay allowed, braking as a bus pulled onto the street. “In a squeaky-clean-veneer, bad-boy-underneath kind of way.”

“Is that a bad kind of way?” The few times Kaitlin had met Dylan at the office, she'd mostly found him charming. He had a twinkle in his blue eyes, could make a joke of almost anything and, if it hadn't been her briefcase in question, she might have admired his loyalty to Zach for stealing it.

Lindsay gave a self-conscious grin, rubbing her palms briskly along the curve of the steering wheel. “Fine. You caught me. I confess.”

Grinning at the irony, Kaitlin continued. “His best friend's locked in an epic struggle with your best friend. You've called into question the integrity of his entire family. And you practically arrested him for stealing my briefcase. But other than that, I can see the two of you really going somewhere with this.”

Lindsay shook back her hair. “I'm only window-shopping. Besides, there's nothing wrong with a little libido mixed in with an intellectual exercise.”

Kaitlin couldn't help laughing. It was a relief to let the anger go. “Zach groped me under the table during dinner. How's that for libido?”

Lindsay sobered, glancing swiftly at Kaitlin before returning her attention to the road. “Seriously?”

“I guess he's still trying to distract me.”

They pulled into a parking spot in front of Kaitlin's apartment building, and Lindsay set the parking brake, shifting in her seat. “Tell me that's not why you showed him the plans.”

“It wasn't
that
distracting.” Well, in fact he was entirely
that
distracting. But the distraction was irrelevant to her decision. “I showed him the plans to shut him up.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.”
Mostly.

Lindsay gave a wry grin. “Poor Zach. Part of me can't wait to see what he tries next.”

And part of Kaitlin couldn't help hoping it involved seduction.

 

In his office Monday morning, Zach was forced to struggle to keep from fantasizing about Kaitlin. He was angry with her over the lavish designs, and he needed to stay that way in order to keep his priorities straight. Thinking about her smooth legs, her lithe body and those sensuous, kissable lips was only asking for trouble. Well, more trouble. More trouble than he'd ever had in his life.

“—to the tune of ten million dollars,” Esmond Carson was saying from one of the burgundy guest chairs across from Zach's office desk.

At the mention of the number, Zach's brain rocked back to attention. “What?” he asked bluntly.

Esmond flipped through the thick file folder on his lap. The gray-haired man was nearing sixty-five. He'd been a trusted lawyer and advisor of Zach's grandmother Sadie for over thirty years. “Rent, food, teacher salaries, transportation. All of the costs are overstated in the financial reports. The foundation has a huge stack of bills in arrears. The bank account has maxed out its overdraft. That's how the mess came to my attention.”

Zach couldn't believe what he was hearing. How had things gotten so out of hand? “Who
did
this?”

“Near as we can tell, it was a man named Lawrence Wellington. He was the regional manager for the city. And he disappeared the day after Sadie passed away. My guess is that he knew the embezzlement would come to light as soon as you took over.”

“He stole ten million dollars?”

“That's what it looks like.”

“You've called the police?”

Esmond closed the file folder, his demeanor calm, expression impassive. “We could report it.”

“Damn right we're reporting it.” Zach's hand went to his desk phone. Someone had stolen from his grandmother. Worse, they'd stolen from his grandmother's charitable trust. Sadie was passionate about helping inner-city kids.

“We're having him arrested and charged,” Zach finished, lifting the receiver and raising it to his ear.

“That might not be your best option.”

Zach paused, hand over the telephone buttons. He lifted his brows in a silent question.

“It would generate a lot of publicity,” said Esmond.

“And?” Who cared? It wasn't as if they had any obligation to protect the reputation of a criminal.

“It'll be a media circus. The charity, your grandmother's name, all potentially dragged through the mud. Donors will get nervous, revenue could drop, projects might be canceled. No one and no company wants their name linked with criminal behavior, no matter how noble the charity.”

“You think it would go that way?” asked Zach, weighing the possibilities in his mind, realizing Esmond had a valid point.

“I know a good private investigative firm,” said Esmond. “We'll look for the guy, of course. And if there's any benefit in pressing charges, we'll press them. But my guess is we won't find him. From the records I've reviewed, Lawrence Wellington was a very shrewd operator. He'll be long gone. Sadie's money's long gone.”

Zach hissed out a swearword, dropping the receiver and sliding back in his tall chair.

The two men sat in silence, midmorning sunshine streaming in the big windows, muted office sounds coming through the door, the familiar hum of traffic on Liberty Street below.

“What would Sadie want?” Esmond mused quietly.

That one was easy. “Sadie would want us to help the kids.” Zach's grandmother would want them to swiftly and quietly help the kids.

Esmond agreed. “Are you in a position to write a check? I can pull this out of the fire if you can cover the losses.”

What a question.

Like every other transportation company in the world, Harper's cash flow had been brutalized these past few years. He had ships sitting idle in port, others in dry dock racking up huge repair bills, customers delaying payment because of their own downturns, creditors tightening terms, and Kaitlin out there designing the Taj Mahal instead of a functional office building.

“Sure,” he told Esmond. “I'll write you a check.”

He put Esmond in touch with his finance director, asked Amy to have Kaitlin come to his office, then swiveled his chair to stare out at the cityscape, hoping against hope his grandmother wasn't watching over him at this particular moment. In the three short months since her death, it felt as if the entire company was coming off the rails.

Not entirely his fault, of course. But the measure of a business manager wasn't how he performed when things were going well, it was how he performed under stress. And the biggest stress of his present world was on her way up to see him right now.

A few minutes later, he heard the door open and knew it had to be Kaitlin. Amy would have announced anyone else.

“You can close it behind you,” he told her without turning.

“That's okay,” she said, her footsteps crossing the carpet toward his desk.

He turned his chair, coming to his feet, in no mood to be ignored. He strode around the end of the big desk. “You can close the door behind you,” he repeated with emphasis.

“Zach, we—”

He breezed past her and firmly closed it himself.

“I'd prefer you didn't do that.” Her voice faded off as he turned and met her head-on.

She wore a slim, charcoal-gray skirt, topped with a white-and-gold silk blouse. The skirt accented her slender waist, and was short enough to show off her shapely legs, while the blouse clung softly to her firm breasts. The top buttons were undone, showing
a hint of cleavage and framing her slender neck. A twisted gold necklace dangled between her breasts, while matching earrings swung from her small ears beneath a casual updo.

His gut tightened predictably at the sight of her, and he took the few steps back to the middle of the room.

Did she have to look like a goddess every day in the office? Had the woman never heard of business suits or, better yet, sweatpants? Could she not show up in loafers instead of three-inch, strappy heels that would haunt his dreams?

“I would prefer…” She started for the door.

He snagged her arm.

She glanced pointedly down to his grip. “Are you going to manhandle me again?”

Manhandling her
did begin to describe what he wanted to do. He'd gone home Friday night with his muscles stretched taut as steel. He'd tossed and turned, prayed for anger, got arousal, and when he finally slept, there she was, sexy, beckoning, but always out of reach.

He searched her expression. “Am I frightening you?”

“No.”

“I'm making you angry?”

“Yes.”

“Deal with it.” He wouldn't scare her, but he truly didn't care if she got mad.

She set her jaw. “I am.”

“Because you're making me angry, too.” That wasn't the only thing she was making him. But it was the only one he'd own up to—both out loud and inside his head.

“Poor baby,” she cooed.

“You're taunting me?”
That
was what she wanted to do here? He could barely believe it.

“I'm keeping the upper hand,” she corrected him, crossing her arms, accentuating her breasts, increasing his view of her cleavage.

He coughed out a laugh of surprise, covering up the surge of arousal. “You think you have the upper hand?”

“I
know
I have the upper hand. And there's nothing you can say or do to make me—”

He took a step forward. He was at the end of his rope here. The woman needed to wake up to reality.

Her eyes went wide, and her lips parted ever so slightly.

“Make you what?” he breathed.

“Zach.” Her tone held a warning, even as her expression turned to confusion and vulnerability.

His attention locked in on her, and her alone.

“Make you what?” he persisted.

She didn't answer. But the tip of her tongue flicked out, moistening her lips.

He closed his throat on an involuntary groan, and his world shrank further.

He shifted closer, fixated on her lips.

His thigh brushed hers.

Her lips softened, and her breathing deepened.

He inhaled the exotic perfume, daring to lift his hand, stroking the back of his knuckles against her soft cheek.

She didn't stop him. Instead, her eyelids fluttered closed, and she leaned into his caress. His desire kicked into action. And he tipped his head, leaning in without conscious thought to press his lips against hers.

They were soft, pliable, hot and delicious. Sensation instantaneously exploded inside his brain. He was back on the yacht, the ocean breeze surrounding them, her taste overpowering his senses, the stars a backdrop to their midnight passion.

His arms went around her, and hers around him. Their bodies came flush, the sensation achingly familiar. She molded to him, fitting tight in all the right places.