Ulterior Motives
Authors: Laura Leone
Ulterior Motives
by Laura Leone
Published by
ePublishing Works!
ISBN: 978-1-61417-235-8
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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© 1989, 2012 by Laura Resnick. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Thank You.
Foreword to the eBook Edition of
Ulterior Motives
I wrote this novel for Silhouette Books early in my career. Several years later, I turned to writing fantasy novels, which was when I switched to writing under my own name—and that's mostly what I've been doing full-time ever since.
So if you link to
LauraLeone.com
to look for information about more of my Leone romances, you'll find yourself visiting a website that's hosted under my real name, Laura Resnick. Never fear, you're in the right place! Just look in the site menu for what you want.
The reason I started my career under a pseudonym is covered on the FAQs page of my website, as is the reason I used a different name when I started writing fantasy. (My reasons were standard stuff, nothing wildly salacious or original; but the information is there, if you're curious.)
Happily, changes in technology and distribution have enabled me, like many other writers, to release new editions of books that have been unavailable for a few years. So I hope you enjoy
Ulterior Motives
, as well as my other romance novels which are now available as ebooks.
—Laura Resnick a.k.a. Laura Leone
Chapter One
Cincinnati, Ohio, 1989
Shelley had noticed him instantly.
He had that certain something, that
je ne sais quoi,
that
savoir faire.
He was the sort of man who stood out, even in a room as crowded as this one.
Shelley normally loathed the phrase “casual elegance,” but it described this man too well to be cast aside. He looked so at ease in his tailored English suit and sleek Italian shoes that one would think he’d been born in them. He wore his gold cuff links and Swiss watch with unconscious ease. His straight, thick black hair was expertly cut in a continental style and had been combed just carelessly enough to hint at an underlying sensuality. His blue eyes studied the crowd from beneath long dark lashes, his expression showing a subtle mixture of amusement and polite interest.
He looked very smooth and polished and clever. The best course of action, Shelley decided sensibly, would be to ignore him.
But she found, much to her surprise, that she kept noticing him. Within minutes, she noticed that he had noticed her, too, and was continuing to notice her. Before long, a little harmless noticing turned into a staring contest.
His expression was flattering as he absorbed her bold stare. Something electric passed between them in that crowded, noisy room, and the look on his face deepened to frank admiration and interest. Shelley didn’t blush or turn away. She didn’t understand the modern Western inhibitions regarding eye contact between strangers. If you found someone interesting, it seemed only polite to let your eyes tell them so; everyone needed a little positive reinforcement now and then. What’s more, Shelley knew she could learn a lot about someone in those silent moments of eye contact. She had worked with the public all of her adult life and relied on her intuitive understanding of most people.
This was different, though. There was something fascinating about this man’s lively blue eyes, something enigmatic about the smile hovering at the corners of his well-shaped mouth, something compelling about the way his relaxed body radiated dynamic energy.
He pushed himself lazily away from the pillar he’d been leaning against and started to walk toward her. Their gazes were still locked. Shelley felt transfixed. She had no idea what she would say once he reached her side. “Hello” seemed too banal, but “I can’t stop staring at you” would sound ridiculous. The look in his eyes assured her that he would know exactly what to say. In any case, Shelley felt something exciting was about to happen to her.
“Watch out!” someone shouted.
It wasn’t quite the exciting moment she had been expecting. A waitress bumped into her and dropped three glasses of sangria all over Shelley’s pale yellow blouse and gray wool skirt.
She gasped as the cold liquid drenched her chest and looked down in dismay at her besmirched outfit.
“Oh, no!” she said, for lack of something better to say.
“Oh, miss, I’m so sorry. Oh, excuse me, miss, no, here, let me do that. Oh, it’s all my fault...” The waitress who had drenched her started frantically brushing her off.
“It’s all right. Don’t worry about it,” Shelley replied as she dodged the girl’s violent efforts to clean her stained blouse and skirt. “Really. I was standing right in your way.”
“You certainly were,” agreed Wayne Thompson. “Why were you standing there like a totem pole?”
Shelley gave her young, clean-cut colleague a sheepish look. “You’ll have to stay here and talk to the client. I’ve got to go home and change. And for goodness sake, try to be a little tactful.”
Wayne looked around the large reception hall at the several hundred guests of Shelley’s potential client, Keene International Company. New to Cincinnati, the company was throwing this big afternoon reception to celebrate its first year in the Queen City. They had invited all their current and potential business associates. Shelley, as the director of the Babel Language Center, was currently negotiating with Keene to handle all of their language and cultural training, as well as all of their translation and interpretation work. Although Keene seemed to prefer Babel to Shelley’s chief competitor, she wouldn’t count her chickens until she had signed the contract with this important client. It would be a tremendous account for the language center and would likely lead to her promotion.
