neck.
“Let’s go in,” he muttered, his body taut and hard
against hers.
Leaning against the wall, her senses disordered by
his seductive assault, she barely registered his words.
“What?” she murmured, passion-dazed.
“Inside,” he muttered, a hand cupping and kneading
her breast.
“Oh, God!” Returning to herself with a sudden rush
of icy reality, she pushed at him, wedging her arms between their
bodies. “No, I can’t Mitchell. I’m sorry. No.”
He straightened, disbelief and passion making his
features harsh. “No?”
“Please, no. No.” She drew a shaken breath.
“No.”
******
Two weeks later, Mitchell walked through the door
leading into the resort offices.
“Good morning, Mr. Riese,” the secretary offered
brightly. “Did you have a good trip from New York?”
“Yes, thank you.” He frowned down at the contracts
in his hands. “Where’s your fax machine?”
“Oh, let me do that—“ she started, breaking off when
the phone on her desk rang. “Hello? Yes, I have that information.
Can you hold?”
Mitchell scanned the document in his hands, mentally
rephrasing the clause in the middle of the page.
“I can fax that for you now,” the woman behind the
desk offered as she replaced the telephone receiver in its
cradle.
He glanced at the phone, noting the blinking light.
“You’ve got someone waiting. If you’ll point me in the direction of
the machine, I can handle it myself.”
A hesitant smile hovered on her face. “Of course,…if
you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” he said, his tone dry. How long would it
take these people to accept a business-like relationship rather
than the overly-chummy management style Delanie Carlyle
preferred?
And why the hell did he care? He ran a dozen
companies and had never before even thought about his popularity
with his staff. There was nothing wrong in striving for perfection.
It wasn’t often achieved, but the striving built character.
“Okay, if you don’t mind doing it yourself,” the
woman chirped nervously. “The fax is right here on the counter. You
just put the page in, punch in the fax number and push the start
button.”
“Thank you.”
The secretary’s smile grew brighter. “You’re
welcome.”
Mitchell slipped the clip off the contract and fed
the first sheet into the machine. Behind him, the secretary—he
didn’t know her name—answered her caller’s question, her voice
cheerful.
“Yes, that was the thirteenth…”
The woman’s voice drifted into the background as he
fed page after page into the fax machine.
In the past four weeks, he hadn’t made much obvious
headway in unseating Delanie Carlyle from her ownership position,
but he was a patient man. He’d find a way to get The Cedars back
without paying her a cent. Some endeavors took time to come to
fruition.
After that first staff meeting, he’d realized he
needed a plan of action. With this in mind, he’d asked her to
dinner alone. She played her manipulations and deceit with a warm
smile. It wasn’t his style, but he’d smoothed down his anger,
determined to best her at her own game.
Still, Delanie’s rebuff after their kiss on her
porch rankled. Why the hell the woman persisted in acting as if
they’d never been lovers before, he couldn’t imagine. He knew he
hadn’t slipped and revealed his hand. She had no reason to suspect
he was still bent on wresting The Cedars away from her. So why had
she pulled back?
Why had she caught fire in his arms that night only
to deny him—and herself—some much needed release? It didn’t make
any sense. It wasn’t like the woman didn’t like sex.
Her virginal attack of modesty after their scorching
kiss had left him both furious and frustrated. It wasn’t bad enough
that she was trying to steal half of The Cedars, she apparently
also wanted to steal his sanity as well.
Mitchell fed in another page of the contract and
punched the start button on the fax.
To hell with her.
He could manage his
“Let’s go in,” he muttered, his body taut and hard
against hers.
Leaning against the wall, her senses disordered by
his seductive assault, she barely registered his words.
“What?” she murmured, passion-dazed.
“Inside,” he muttered, a hand cupping and kneading
her breast.
“Oh, God!” Returning to herself with a sudden rush
of icy reality, she pushed at him, wedging her arms between their
bodies. “No, I can’t Mitchell. I’m sorry. No.”
He straightened, disbelief and passion making his
features harsh. “No?”
“Please, no. No.” She drew a shaken breath.
“No.”
******
Two weeks later, Mitchell walked through the door
leading into the resort offices.
“Good morning, Mr. Riese,” the secretary offered
brightly. “Did you have a good trip from New York?”
“Yes, thank you.” He frowned down at the contracts
in his hands. “Where’s your fax machine?”
“Oh, let me do that—“ she started, breaking off when
the phone on her desk rang. “Hello? Yes, I have that information.
Can you hold?”
Mitchell scanned the document in his hands, mentally
rephrasing the clause in the middle of the page.
“I can fax that for you now,” the woman behind the
desk offered as she replaced the telephone receiver in its
cradle.
He glanced at the phone, noting the blinking light.
“You’ve got someone waiting. If you’ll point me in the direction of
the machine, I can handle it myself.”
A hesitant smile hovered on her face. “Of course,…if
you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” he said, his tone dry. How long would it
take these people to accept a business-like relationship rather
than the overly-chummy management style Delanie Carlyle
preferred?
And why the hell did he care? He ran a dozen
companies and had never before even thought about his popularity
with his staff. There was nothing wrong in striving for perfection.
It wasn’t often achieved, but the striving built character.
“Okay, if you don’t mind doing it yourself,” the
woman chirped nervously. “The fax is right here on the counter. You
just put the page in, punch in the fax number and push the start
button.”
“Thank you.”
The secretary’s smile grew brighter. “You’re
welcome.”
Mitchell slipped the clip off the contract and fed
the first sheet into the machine. Behind him, the secretary—he
didn’t know her name—answered her caller’s question, her voice
cheerful.
“Yes, that was the thirteenth…”
The woman’s voice drifted into the background as he
fed page after page into the fax machine.
In the past four weeks, he hadn’t made much obvious
headway in unseating Delanie Carlyle from her ownership position,
but he was a patient man. He’d find a way to get The Cedars back
without paying her a cent. Some endeavors took time to come to
fruition.
After that first staff meeting, he’d realized he
needed a plan of action. With this in mind, he’d asked her to
dinner alone. She played her manipulations and deceit with a warm
smile. It wasn’t his style, but he’d smoothed down his anger,
determined to best her at her own game.
Still, Delanie’s rebuff after their kiss on her
porch rankled. Why the hell the woman persisted in acting as if
they’d never been lovers before, he couldn’t imagine. He knew he
hadn’t slipped and revealed his hand. She had no reason to suspect
he was still bent on wresting The Cedars away from her. So why had
she pulled back?
Why had she caught fire in his arms that night only
to deny him—and herself—some much needed release? It didn’t make
any sense. It wasn’t like the woman didn’t like sex.
Her virginal attack of modesty after their scorching
kiss had left him both furious and frustrated. It wasn’t bad enough
that she was trying to steal half of The Cedars, she apparently
also wanted to steal his sanity as well.
Mitchell fed in another page of the contract and
punched the start button on the fax.
To hell with her.
He could manage his
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