Pirate's Gold by Lisa Jackson Page B

his eyes. “Damn it, woman,” he whispered as he shook his head in disbelief. “How many times do I have to tell you that I like your ‘style’?” After crossing the room, he reached for her and traced the ridges between her wrist and fingers with his strong hand. He captured her gaze in the warmth of his stormy gray eyes.
    She was still wary. “Does my ‘style’ include my production company?” she whispered. “Isn’t that what you really like about me?”
    A muscle near the back of his jaw began to tighten and his eyes bored into hers. “I admit that I’m interested in Festival Productions. You know it, and I haven’t tried to hide the fact. I thought I put my cards on the table last night. I’m very interested in your production company.” She was about to interrupt but he held a finger to her lips. “But that is not the reason that I invited you down here.”
    â€œBut on the phone you said—”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter what ploy I used to get you here.” He saw the argument forming in her eyes and warded it off. “It won’t change things to accuse me of being underhanded,” he warned with a rakish grin. “I’ve heard it before.” He took both of her hands in his, forcing her to face him squarely. “I don’t want to get involved with you any more than do you with me, but it seems to be in the cards, wouldn’t you say?”
    Gently he kissed her palm. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip at the intimacy of the gesture and her heart began to beat in a syncopated rhythm. “I just hope the deck isn’t stacked against me.”
    Again his eyes drilled into hers. “Would I do that?”
    â€œI don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” she replied, her voice becoming ragged. He was getting to her, just as surely as if she had willingly let him in to her heart.
    â€œLet’s not argue,” Kyle suggested, releasing her hand. “I’ve had enough of that for one day.”
    Maren was perplexed. “From me?” The sudden tensing of his body warned her that she was prying into forbidden territory.
    His gaze clouded. “No.” He didn’t elaborate and Maren didn’t press him. The private battles he was fighting were none of her business and she knew intuitively that the less she became entwined in the personal aspects of Kyle Sterling’s life the better. “Can I offer you a drink?” he asked abruptly, effectively changing the subject. When she nodded, he strode over to an ornately carved wooden sideboard that had been converted into a bar.
    While Kyle was mixing the drinks, Maren took the time to examine the living room. It was expansive, with an open-beamed ceiling rising a full two floors. A polished tile floor was covered with a tightly woven cream-colored carpet. The furnishings were modern pieces in variegated hues of brown and rust with clean, strong lines. A bank of tall windows facing west opened to a commanding view of the restless azure Pacific Ocean. A few potted plants were casually arranged near the heavier pieces of furniture and watercolors of dusky mountain ridges adorned the walls.
    When Kyle turned his attention back to Maren, she was struck by his overwhelming masculinity. She suspected that it wasn’t an image he attempted to cultivate, but the power surrounding him couldn’t be disguised. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and an open-throated shirt. His arms were bare and bronzed, and when he handed her a glass of amber liquor, his arms flexed to display lean, corded muscles that moved smoothly under his dark skin. He was more ruggedly sensual than any man Maren had ever met, and he wore his masculinity with a pride and near arrogance that fascinated the woman deep within her. Though she tried to think of him as the opposition and not as a man, she found it impossible.
    â€œIs brandy all