Ulterior Motives (11 page)

He covered their clasped hands with his free hand and used the camouflage to caress her palm with his fingertips. “And how do you like your new job?” he asked charmingly.

“It’s hardly new,” Shelley said sweetly. “How do you like Cincinnati? Do you find it at all unsettling to do business in a city you can’t even find your way around in?”

Ross’ eyes danced as she seethed. He squeezed her hand one last time—as if to express appreciation for her riposte—then released it.

“Not at all. What are you eating?”

“Moo Goo Gai Pan.”

“Gesundheit.”

“That looks good, Shelley,” Mike Paige said. “I think that’s what I’ll have.”

“If you can get our waiter back,” grumbled Mike’s boss. “I haven’t seen him for ten minutes. The service here is awful.”

Ross looked across the room and said, “Waiter.”

Within thirty seconds someone was taking his order, refilling Shelley’s water glass, presenting a wine list, and clearing away the appetizer plates. She began to suspect that Ross owed his success to a secret ingredient she would never be able to emulate.

While Shelley had planned this luncheon to observe Ross with Mike Paige and his boss, Ross was using the occasion to breach her defenses. He flirted with her outrageously. Mike’s boss was too obtuse to notice it. Mike himself was clearly confused, since he knew how fierce the competition between Babel and Elite was for Keene’s contract.

Shelley was relieved that Ross had never used the full force of his charm on her when they were alone. She doubted she would have escaped with her virtue intact. He flattered her, he teased her, he listened attentively to every word she uttered, he made her feel beautiful and brilliant and special. And, amazingly, he did this all without ever neglecting their companions. He encouraged Mike and his boss to tell them all about their careers and goals while he burned Shelley’s flesh with his hot gaze, warmed her soul with his secretive smiles, and confused her with the intensity of his presence.

He was so much more dangerous than she had realized, she thought dazedly. How could she have known? She had never met anyone like him before. He could talk his way into the Kremlin. He could be the first unbeliever allowed inside the Great Mosque at Mecca. He could build the Tower of Babel and get away with it. Even heaven would be taken in by that smile, those eyes, that suggestive voice.

Stop it, Shelley, stop it,
she chided herself. She knew full well what he was doing, and she was still overwhelmed. She had always detested flirts, always been suspicious of easy charm, and yet he had her eating out of his hand. Time to take charge, she decided.

She stiffened her spine and shifted her body away from Ross. Everyone’s attitude indicated that it would be gauche to bring up business now or press Keene for a decision. The next best thing would be to take everyone’s attention off Ross. With wide, enraptured eyes she questioned Mike’s boss about his loathsome hobbies.

“The biggest set of antlers I’ve ever seen...” the man was saying ten minutes later as the plates were cleared away. Every time there was a pause in the conversation she shifted attention back to him, willfully keeping Ross from making any further impression on the group.

Ross sat back with an amused expression and made no attempt to interfere. She wanted to snap at him that she hadn’t planned this meeting for his personal pleasure, but knew it would only increase his enjoyment.

“There’s this place in Pennsylvania...”

Shelley sipped her coffee, letting her hand drop down to dangle beside her chair. Within seconds she felt warm, strong fingers stroke her palm and then interlace with her own fingers.

She drew in her breath sharply, drawing Mike’s gaze. “How exciting,” she murmured. She saw Ross’ grin out of the corner of her eye and wished she had chosen different words.

“It was an antique, genuine eighteenth century. Worth thousands...”

Shelley tried to pull her hand away, and Ross’ grip tightened. Slowly, inexorably, he pulled her hand closer to him as he shifted his body towards her. There was a predatory glitter in his hooded eyes that made her heart beat faster. His free hand covered hers, and he began to gently massage the soft underside of her wrist.

Shelley’s lips parted and she felt her breath grow shallow. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on their companions and wondered what to do about this. Those strong caressing fingers sent little hot waves of pleasure running up her arm and into her chest.

He gently, caressingly squeezed her wrist, relaxed and squeezed again and again and again, establishing an unmistakable, suggestive rhythm. As soon as the thought flashed into her mind, she felt her cheeks flush. She would kill him for this. As if taking pity on her crumbling composure, he ceased his teasing massage to trail his fingers back down her wrist with a feather-light touch and tickle her palm.

The sensation nearly forced a throaty sigh from her. She bit back the noise with effort, and, as a result, her teeth chattered. That drew a surprised and laughing glance from Ross.

“Are you cold, Shelley?” he asked with insufferable concern.

“No,” she said tersely.

“You look kind of hot, actually,” Mike interjected. “You’re all flushed.”

“Really?” she said weakly.

“Your eyes are glittering, too,” said Ross with exaggerated seriousness. “Perhaps you have a fever.” He maintained his grasp on her hand while his free hand came out from under the table and reached for her brow.

“Of course, I don’t—”

“Shh, talking raises your temperature,” he crooned while he felt her forehead, touched her cheek, rubbed the back of her neck, and stroked the soft skin under her chin.

“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped, trying to pull away from his blatantly intimate touch.

“There’s a lot of flu going around,” Mike said.

“Excuse me, sir, here’s your bill,” said a waiter.

Mike and his boss turned away from Shelley and started arguing about which of them would put the lunch on his expense account. Shelley was about to enter into the argument, but Ross distracted her.

“Do you think you might swoon?” he asked hopefully.

“That does it,” she muttered, “I really
am
going to kill you for this.”

“But Shelley, dear, this lunch was your idea,” he pointed out wickedly.

“Not all of it,” she said, and yanked her hand forcefully out of his. She turned her attention to the men from Keene International. “Please, I insist you let me pick up the check.”

Both men argued with that, Mike out of courtesy and the other man because Shelley was a mere woman. Ross sat back and let them all bicker about who would pay for lunch. Shelley finally agreed to let Mike’s boss pay, realizing it was the sort of thing that would confirm his manliness to himself.

“Did you bring a coat?” Ross asked Shelley as they approached the exit.

“Yes, it’s right in here.” She walked into the cloakroom and found her simple beige blazer. Just as she was about to pull it off the hanger, Ross appeared next to her and removed it for her. With that old-fashioned courtesy she had seen in him before, he helped her put it on. Then he ruined the effect by suggestively stroking her arm and grinning with pleasure at her exasperation.

Mike’s boss preceded them out of the restaurant, and despite the man’s vocal views on the defenseless sex, he let the door swing back in Shelley’s face. Mike rolled his eyes apologetically. Ross opened the door and ushered Shelley out into the breezy April afternoon on Sixth Street.

After exchanging the usual courtesies, Mike Paige asked, “How are you getting back, Shelley?”

“We’ll walk. It’s not far,” Ross said.

“We?” Shelley said apprehensively.

“I’m going your way,” he replied.

“But Elite isn’t—”

“My father taught me always to see a lady to her door.”

“But I—”

“Good, good, we won’t have to worry about her now,” said Mike’s boss, probably thinking what a
man
Ross was. “We’ll be talking to you, Ross... and to you, too, Michelle. Goodbye.”

Mike Paige nodded to Shelley and Ross, and the two men climbed into a taxi. Mike’s boss obviously found walking the four blocks back to work too strenuous.

“So much for the great white hunter,” Shelley murmured.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Ross said cheerfully. “We must do this more often, Shelley.”

Shelley whirled on him. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“You look quite overwhelmed. I sometimes have that effect on women,” Ross confided, “but you’ll get over it when you become more accustomed to me.”

“I have no intention of becoming accustomed to you! And as soon as I can think of something cutting and rude enough to say to you, I—”

“Temper, temper. I was just trying to lighten the atmosphere at lunch. All those stories about slaughtering Bambi seemed to be spoiling your appetite.”

She pursed her lips for a moment and then, against her will, started to laugh. Ross smiled appreciatively.

“There, that’s better. I like to see you laugh,” he said, tilting his head to one side. His eyes raked her severe brown skirt and beige top. “It makes you look more like yourself.”

She sighed, wishing she could feel angry or order him to leave her alone. With a warm feeling of inevitability, she turned and started walking up the street, knowing he would tag along and feeling glad of it.

“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why you orchestrated this chance meeting today?” he asked.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what you offered Keene International today?” she countered.

“I don’t mind. I imagine Mike Paige will tell you soon enough, anyhow.”

She looked at Ross in surprise. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might answer her question.

“Well?” she prompted.

He looked at her consideringly for a moment, and she had a sense again of the shrewdness he brought to his work.

Most of the time,
she amended silently, remembering their scene in her office.

“I offered the usual native speakers, bonus lessons, inclusive materials, certified interpreters, and so on. I offered to send the instructors to Keene’s offices at no extra charge. Elite will pick up the travel expenses.”

Shelley frowned, thinking. She could certainly match that offer, although it would take some bargaining with her superiors to get them to cover travel expenses for instructors and interpreters. “What else?”

“Free limousine service, complimentary hotel suite for visiting foreigners, Elite buys meals for all private intensive students.”

“Is there more?” she asked apprehensively.

There certainly was. Ross outlined schedules and services Shelley couldn’t provide at prices she couldn’t match.

“You can’t make a profit on that deal,” she said skeptically when he had finished. “Will Elite let you do that?” She frowned again and looked away. “Of course they will,” she murmured, “with your record. You must have done this before.”

He glanced at her. “I take it you’ve read all about me?”

“Yes,” she answered pensively.

“And?”

“And I think you’re very clever.” She looked away again. “That’s your plan for Cincinnati, isn’t it? Elite’s reputation is so bad here you need a big client like Keene to sign with you no matter what it costs you. They’ll give you the credibility you need to attract everyone else’s business, which you’ll charge normal prices for. Next year, when you renew Keene’s contract you’ll charge them enough to break even. Two years from now you’ll charge enough to make a handsome profit off them. But by then you’ll be firmly entrenched and growing rich off everybody.”

He was silent for a moment. The breeze stirred his black hair, tumbling it over his forehead. “You’re very quick, Shelley.”
 

“Does Mike Paige know?”

“I don’t think he knows yet. He’ll figure it out eventually. But it won’t matter.”

“No, it won’t, will it? Because whatever your motive, you’re offering him more than I can at a better price.”

“Exactly.” His voice was soft, filled with something that she might have mistaken for regret.

“So it won’t even matter that Chuck is still your director. They’ll want to do business with you anyhow.”

“Chuck won’t be in charge anymore,” he said.

She looked at him with obvious surprise. He stopped and turned toward her. He took her arm and drew her under the wide stone stairway leading up to the skywalk. In the soft shadows, with his rich blue eyes and with the wind touching his raven hair, he looked like one of her more intense fantasies come to lure her away from her responsible job and her practical nature.

“You’re getting rid of Chuck?” she asked. He nodded. “Why?”

“Because he’s dishonest and incompetent.” Ross sighed. “I’m so tired of taking away people’s jobs. I didn’t want to do it again.”

“But it’s for the best, Ross,” Shelley said, vaguely aware that it was absurd to think about comforting him.

“I know.” His warm hand came up to stroke her face. “He doesn’t know yet. I’m trusting you with a secret.”