“What happened to
On my own terms?
” she demanded.
“That’s for the advanced jerk,” he said. “You’re a beginner.” He scanned her figure. “I always thought pink was your color, but that bronzey thing is good, too.”
“You seriously sit around thinking about what my color is?” she said.
He grinned. “Okay, I was trying to distract you from whining.”
She bit down on a smile. It was hard to stay mad at Garrett.
“Tell me what Clive’s up to,” he said. “What did you find?”
“No details of any secret meetings or emails,” she said. “But if you want to take a look at his pitch…”
“Since we’re here…” Garrett began skimming the material.
“He’s banging the community and friends drum—his graphics look a bit like Facebook.” Though not so similar that they’d have a lawsuit on their hands.
She leaned in to show him what she meant and found herself so close she could see the shadow of imminent beard on his jaw. So close she could smell that damn pineneedle and orange-peel scent.
Rachel shifted from one foot to the other.
“Huh,” Garrett said. “His words aren’t that compelling, but the graphics are great.”
“I agree.”
Together, they flipped through the rest of the materials.
“I’m happy to report my pitch is better than this.” Garrett gave the last page a dismissive flick with thumb and forefinger.
“You mean your
team’s
pitch?”
“Absolutely.” He grinned.
Rachel closed the file. “So is my team’s.” Then she ruined it by adding, “Assuming the client has any taste.”
“You worry too much,” Garrett said. “You can beat Clive any time.”
“Clive might win a CLIO,” she muttered as Garrett returned the file to the drawer.
“The CLIOs don’t matter.”
She snorted.
“They’re nice to have,” he admitted. “And they convey a certain level of credibility. But if your creative is the best for Brightwater, the client will see that.”
He sounded sincere.
Rachel knew better.
“But you don’t believe my creative will be the best,” she said.
“Afraid not.” He shrugged. “If I thought yours would be better than mine, Rach, I’d give up now.”
“I don’t know what to say about that stunning tribute to my ability. And,” she added halfheartedly, “it’s Rach
el.
”
He grabbed her hand, twined his fingers through hers. “Seriously, Rach, I plan to win this partnership. You need to start thinking about where you’ll go when KBC fires you. If you’re smart, you’ll start making inquiries at other firms now. You’re more marketable when you haven’t just lost a pitch.”
“Quit trying to intimidate me.” But in fact, it was the calm practicality of his words, the total
lack
of menace, that struck fear into Rachel’s heart. She hated being uncertain about the future. But it was hard not to be when he sounded so confident.
She staged a yawn. “I think I’ve had enough espionage for one night. Time for bed.”
“I guess we could, if you want,” Garrett deadpanned.
She shook her head. “That
so
wasn’t an invitation.”
“Shame,” he said. Then he looked her over the way he had a few minutes ago, only more intently, with those dark eyes sexily hooded. “That’s a real shame.”
The heat in his gaze dried her mouth. She swallowed, but it didn’t help.
Garrett ran a finger down her bare arm. “Kiss me, Rachel,” he said. “That last one, in the library, wasn’t enough.”
She knew
that.
“Not a good idea,” she began.
“Kiss me,” he ordered again. He’d moved closer, and the words seemed to spark from his mouth to hers, leaving her lips tingling.
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” she said.
He sighed. “Very fine.”
In the next moment, his arms were around her, one hand splayed across her back, the other cupping her derriere. She had no recollection of how it happened.
“That’s quite a skill,” she said, breathless.
“Actually,” he said, “I’m out of practice. You wait till I get going.”
She
couldn’t
wait. She went up on tiptoe, gliding her body along his, creating a delicious friction that had both of them freezing in position.
A hiss of air escaped between his bared teeth. “Living dangerously, Rach?”
She didn’t know what she was doing; she didn’t need to know. All that mattered was the sensation of the lean, hard length of his body imprinting on her softness. She shuddered with need and saw the glimmer of a smile before his mouth touched hers.
Fire,
was her first thought. Because the heat that sprang up between them was too intense to be anything else.
This was nothing like that swift, hard kiss in the New York Public Library. Garrett’s mouth was just as strong, just as firm, as it had been then. But now it possessed a tantalizing softness that made Rachel want to sign up for days of exploration.
Oh, no,
she thought, a mix of delight and despair.
The sweep of his tongue parted her lips, and she moaned as he entered, tightening her grip on his shoulders convulsively.
She might have guessed that when he applied himself, Garrett Calder would kiss with utter ruthlessness.
She never would have guessed that a no-holds-barred, catch-it-while-you-can, limited-time-only offer—because, surely, that’s what this was—would create an urgency she’d never experienced, turning her weak-kneed with desire. She pressed against him, palmed the back of his neck, his shoulders, anything to maximize the contact between his body and hers.
“Dammit, Rachel,” he growled as he lifted his mouth from hers long enough to move down to her neck. “You weren’t supposed to—” His complaint was lost in a muffled groan as her fingers kneaded his scalp. He nipped the side of her neck as he tugged her T-shirt from her jeans.
The first caress of his fingers against the bare skin of her back had Rachel arching into him.
Her hands roamed the contours of his torso, then dived beneath his T-shirt for a more up-close-and-personal inspection. Mmm, he had the perfect chest.
Dimly, a short, high-pitched sound penetrated Rachel’s consciousness.
“What was—” she began, but then Garrett’s tongue found her shoulder, and she gave up thinking.
“Your skin tastes incredible,” he murmured, and he nipped again, sending a shaft of sensation all the way down to her toes.
“I have never,” she panted, “felt anything like this.”
He stiffened. Then Rachel heard a creak, followed by a thud.
The door from reception closing! Which meant the previous noise had been the elevator. Which meant they were no longer alone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“S
OMEONE
’
S
HERE
,” Rachel hissed, leaping away from Garrett.
“Crap.” He snatched up his flashlight and switched it off. Grabbing Rachel’s hand, he dragged her out of Clive’s office into the first cubicle in the row outside.
The plush carpet deadened any footsteps. Garrett motioned to Rachel to stay down, then slowly raised his head until he could just see over the partition.
He dropped back down again.
Clive,
he mouthed.
Rachel’s stomach lurched. If Clive had arrived five minutes earlier… Had they left everything as they found it?
Garrett leaned into her. “Where’s your flashlight?” he murmured.
Oh, hell. Rachel’s consternation must have been written all over her face. Garrett grimaced.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll distract Clive. You go get the flashlight.”
She would have liked more of a plan, but before she could object, Garrett stood. “Evening, Clive,” he called, as he sauntered down the row of cubicles.
“Hey, Garrett,” she heard Clive say. “I wondered who turned the lights on. You working late?”
Garrett’s voice moved farther away. “I had a few things to tie up. I’m just finishing.”
“Me, too.”
“While you’re here, I’d like to get your view on an email that came in from Tony.” Garrett’s voice seemed to be moving toward his own office.
Rachel peeked over the cubicle and saw Clive following. Still ducked low, she ran for Clive’s office. There was her flashlight, just sticking out from under the desk. She grabbed it and dashed into the nearest alley of cubicles.
“Sorry about that. I can’t think where I put it.” Garrett, explaining the absence of the email he’d invented. “Guess I’ll head home.”
She tucked herself under a desk until she heard Clive go into his office, then crept along the row. When she reached the end nearest the main door, she saw Garrett waiting, holding the door to reception slightly open so she wouldn’t have to make a noise getting out.
It wasn’t until he’d closed the door and Rachel let out a breath that she realized she’d been holding it. She pressed for the elevator, which opened immediately, still there from Clive’s ascent. Garrett followed her in, and the doors closed behind them.
Rachel sagged against the wall. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”
Garrett eyed her breasts in the tight-fitting, copper T-shirt. She half expected an offer to perform chest compressions, but he didn’t say anything.
“Do you think Clive suspected?” she asked.
Garrett shook his head. “He seemed nervous, rather than suspicious. Like he’s up to something, but he didn’t realize I was, too.”
Rachel shivered. “Tonight was a total waste of time—we didn’t find out anything.” She grinned. “Other than, that you and I still have that certain chemistry thing going.”
“Yeah,” he said. “If Clive has any secrets, he keeps them at home.”
“So, what happens next?” she asked.
“I guess I can have Stephanie follow him again,” he said, “but with only a week until the pitches…”
She’d meant what happens next between her and him. Was he being deliberately evasive? It wouldn’t surprise her. Garrett would never be an easy man to…like. Which didn’t mean a relationship wasn’t worth trying. Not if kisses like the one they’d just shared came with it.
He checked his cell phone. “Good, there’s a signal. I need to call Stephanie.”
“Isn’t it a bit late?” Rachel asked.
“She brought me here,” Garrett said. “I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to have a glass of wine and read a book. After a couple of glasses, breaking into Clive’s office started to seem like a good idea.” He scrolled through the numbers on his phone. “Stephanie came out just as I was about to leave. She doesn’t sleep well with the baby kicking and…other things.” He pressed a button to dial. “She insisted on driving me. She’s parked nearby. I’m supposed to call when I’m ready. Stephanie?” He spoke into the phone.
By the time they reached the bottom, Garrett’s BMW was outside. It had started to drizzle, so they ran for the car, Rachel taking the backseat.
Picking up on their tension—a mix of adrenaline from their near miss with Clive and a hangover from that kiss, Rachel concluded—Stephanie floored the gas through the quiet streets.
It wasn’t until she flicked the turn signal and swung into a parking garage that Rachel remembered she should have stopped the car a while ago.
“I’ll hop out here,” she said, one hand on the door, “and grab a cab.”
Stephanie braked. “Sorry, Rachel, I wasn’t thinking. We’ll drive you home.”
“I’m way up in Washington Heights. A cab’s fine. You need your sleep.”
“
I’ll
drive you,” Garrett said.
“No,” she said quickly. He might want to pick up where they’d left off, with that kiss… . Right now she was doubting the wisdom of that.
“Then at least come inside to wait,” Stephanie said. “I don’t want you standing out on the street alone at this time.”
They took the elevator from the garage to the fourth floor. When they stepped out, both Garrett and Stephanie stopped still. Rachel barreled into Stephanie’s back.
“Sorry,” she said into the silence.
The man waiting for them was tall, nearly as tall as Garrett, with features that could only be described as imposing. Hawkish nose, strong chin, squared shoulders that looked as if they didn’t know how to relax.
“Dwight,” Stephanie said.
“Where have you been?” His voice was deep and rough with worry.
“For a drive,” she said, apologetic.
But where Stephanie had softened at the sight of their visitor, Garrett had tensed. He stepped quickly between Dwight and Stephanie. Dwight—presumably Garrett’s father and Stephanie’s husband—clearly didn’t appreciate that. His jaw set like concrete.
“What are you doing here so late?” Stephanie asked.
“I saw you drive out, I thought maybe the baby. There was. Something wrong.”
“I would have called you if there was,” Stephanie said gently. “You should have called my cell if you were worried.”
“I left my phone at the office.” Dwight reddened slightly.
Rachel guessed such a lapse in attention wasn’t a regular occurrence for him.
“Why were you here in the first place?” Garrett asked.
“The Indonesian defense attaché to the UN was hosting a dinner at a restaurant on Christopher Street,” he said. “I drove past on my way home and saw you leaving. By the time I turned around, I’d lost you. I decided to wait here.”
“Dwight, I’m fine,” Stephanie said. “The outing was a—a social thing.”
Garrett said, “Rachel, this is my father, Admiral Dwight Calder.”
Rachel felt as if she should salute, but instead she shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Admiral Calder.”
He eyed her with deep distrust. As if it had been Rachel’s idea that his wife should gallivant around the streets of Manhattan in the middle of the night.
“Let’s go inside.” Stephanie stifled a yawn. “Dwight, you can stay for a cup of tea.”
The admiral looked as if he was unused to being told what he could and couldn’t do, and Garrett looked as if he’d like to countermand Stephanie and send his father home…but both men followed her inside, keeping their distance from each other, letting Rachel go first.
As Rachel could have predicted, Garrett’s loft-style condo was supercool, rather than comfortable. High ceilings with art deco moldings and fancy track lighting, white walls, dark stained wood floors. His furniture was masculine, but classy. Leather sofas, large armchairs, a wide flat-panel TV on the wall. Entirely out of place was a hideous giant yellow teddy bear in the corner by the window.
Stephanie headed into the striking kitchen area—red, glass-fronted cabinets and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances. She filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove.
“This place is amazing,” Rachel told Garrett from a window that overlooked St. Christopher Square. “Is it rent-controlled?”
“I own it,” he said.
Rachel did a double take. The condo had to be worth somewhere near two-million dollars. She had taken a conservative approach to her own mortgage, committing to a loan of twice her salary, on top of her down payment.
“You must be more leveraged than a Ponzi scheme,” she joked.
Too late, she realized Dwight was listening. At the mention of speculative financing, a frown settled between his eyes, the same coal-dark hue as his son’s.
“I’m sure it was good value,” she said quickly.
“Not particularly,” Garrett said. “I just liked it.”
Dwight’s frown deepened. Great, she was about to be responsible for expanding the rift between father and son. She’d wondered if a fifteen-year-old boy could have the strength to live by the threat he’d made to his father, that he would never do what his dad wanted again, but the tension between the two men now made it clear they didn’t get along.
“Lucky you’re so successful in your job,” Rachel said with forced cheer, “that you can afford a place like this.” Though she couldn’t quite see how the numbers added up.
“Rachel, I’m having chamomile tea,” Stephanie said, “but would you like something stronger?”
She felt the need of something
much
stronger. “Coffee, please. The real thing.”
Stephanie handed Garrett the French press and the coffee beans, then pulled cups from a cupboard.
Garrett ground the beans in a grinder, effectively preventing conversation for half a minute.
Dwight sat stiffly in an armchair. Rachel tried not to think about a teenage Garrett begging his dad not to remarry so soon. She didn’t want to hate the man right off the bat, not when she liked his wife.
“Garrett.” Dwight cleared his throat when the coffee grinder stopped. “How are you going with that partnership at your firm?”
Stephanie sent her husband an encouraging smile which, unfortunately, Garrett noticed.
He scowled. “I’ll know in about a week if I got it.”
“I. Hope you do.” What an odd manner Dwight had.
“Rachel’s up for the job, too,” Garrett said.
His father inspected her. “Are you as good at your job as you say Garrett is?”
“We have different strengths,” she said.
“Rachel’s not so strong on the creative side,” Garrett said.
Hey!
She stared at him, aware of Stephanie turning in surprise, too.
“In fact, she’s likely to be leaving KBC soon,” he continued.
This was what she got for trying to support him in front of his dad? She was tempted to tell him exactly what she thought of his attitude…but he must be reverting to bad old Shark Garrett for a reason. Probably because that kiss had spooked him. She would give him some space and head for neutral territory.
“I love the red kitchen,” she said. “Are you thinking of adding more color to the rest of the apartment?” The walls were very white.
“It works for me the way it is,” Garrett said. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks of it.”
Was that meant for Stephanie—a reminder her occupancy was temporary? Or for Rachel, a warning that no matter how hot their kisses, she shouldn’t expect to be a part of his life?
“Good idea not to spend too much,” Dwight said. “You wouldn’t want to overcapitalize.”
Garrett looked wary of hearing words that might constitute approval from his father.
His eyes on Rachel, he said deliberately, “I’m not too worried about the financial side. My bonus should take my income to three hundred thousand this year.”
Rachel’s jaw sagged. “
How
much?”
Dwight looked torn between shock and disapproval of such indiscreet talk about money.
“Are you telling me you earn fifty percent more than I do?” Rachel demanded.
Silence fell.
From the kitchen, Stephanie called, “Cream and sugar?”
No one answered.
Rachel almost wished she hadn’t asked. This looked set to be a major humiliation. But she needed to know.
Garret lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”
“I bring as much money as you do into the firm,” she said. When he lifted one eyebrow she qualified that with “Almost.” Of course, Garrett also brought eight golden statues. Possibly soon to be nine. Not to mention a certain cool factor.
Stephanie poured boiling water into two tea mugs, then handed Garrett the kettle for the coffee. She pulled a plastic container from the pantry. “I made oatmeal cookies.”
Dwight’s face lit up. “My favorite.” Then he appeared to recall she hadn’t made them for him, and he subsided.
“I have a few more years’ experience, and I’ve been headhunted for my last few jobs, including this one,” Garrett reminded Rachel. “I get paid a premium to switch agencies. Maybe you should put a few feelers out.”
Once again, he was telling her she would need a new job soon.