Flirting With Forever (47 page)

She found herself looking straight into Peter’s curious eyes.

“A little more what, Aunt Joss?”

Di gave her a “try to get yourself out of this one” look.

“A little more hard work, Peter. That’s what being a grown-up is al about.” She returned Di’s look with a tiny tongue stick-out.

“Exactly how
hard
is this work going to be?” Di asked.

“Jeez Louise, I’m hardly going to—” Peter’s eyes shot right to her face.
What is it with kids these days?
“I’m not going to work so hard that I’l regret it.”

“Good to hear,” Di said. “Girls who work that hard can get a reputation.”

Peter’s gaze narrowed and moved between his mother’s face and Joss’s.

“But let’s face it,” Joss said, “I’m gonna do what it takes.”

She thought of Ann and her other thirty-one employees, their spouses, children and health care plans.

The jesting smile left Di’s face, replaced with a raised brow. “Real y?”

“Real y. It’s not like I haven’t gotten hints he’d be amenable.”

“I know, but … real y?”

“It seems a smal price, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re not going to … you know?” Di gave her a look to fil in the missing idea.

“
No
. Absolutely not.” Even bald-faced manipulation had its limits.

The door opened on eighteen, and they trooped out and into Rogan’s empty office. He strode in a moment later, an impossibly handsome man with soft blond curls and clear blue eyes that cut to the bones of any business deal.

“Hey,” he said affably to Peter and nodded at Di. “Good to see you. Are we—?”

“Nope.” Di grabbed Peter’s hand. “We’re on our way out.” She handed the cash flow report to Joss. “Don’t work too hard, eh?

Joss glanced down at the paper.
This may be the time
to go all the way,
Di’s scribbled note read.
The number is
$63K.

Oh, crap.

“Hey,” Rogan said with a cheery grin. “What’s up?”

“I’m here with a request.”

“Oh.” He nodded, replacing the smile with a more impassive look, and made his way to the desk.

“I need another loan.”

“Oh, Joss.” The words bloomed with disappointment, and he sat. “How much?”

“Sixty-three thousand.”

He leaned forward, elbows perched on the desk, and ran his thumbs back and forth across his lips, considering. “I wonder,” he said gently, “if you should think about closing.”

“No,” she said. “We’l be fine once this quarter is over.”

He shook his head. “The board won’t go for it. They barely went for the last one.”

She felt a spark of panic. “They wil if you endorse it.

Rogan, c’mon. You know I’m good for it.” She’d made it a point this morning to put on her sexiest bra. It was a demi in pink that lifted her breasts up like two scoops of French vanil a ice cream. Rogan was a decent fel ow—the big surprise when she’d first met him. A little flash of ice cream.

Perhaps a peek at some unskirted thigh. He’d do it. He had to.

That was about the one advantage women had in the business world. Men didn’t always think with their frontal lobes, and anyone who’d ever dated a man knew it. And when the thought process did its little dance out of the frontal lobes and over to the basal ganglia, it left a trail of mush in its wake.

She put the cash flow report on the chair beside her, stood up and leaned over—way over—to reach for his desk clock. It was an ugly, ornate thing he said his old girlfriend had given him. It managed to be both gaudy and tethered by a power cord—the worst of both worlds. Her disdain kept her from breaking into a total sweat.

She had never done this before. It wasn’t her operating style. But if this was al it took to keep the company afloat, in the scheme of things, it wasn’t too much to ask. Business was business. Some people had the marbles. Some people wanted the marbles. Unless you could think of a way to sneak some marbles for yourself, you wouldn’t get to play.

She could hear the
tick tick tick,
and even though she wasn’t looking, she could feel his gaze. The tenor of the room changed, as did the cadence of his breathing.

“I think,” she said, “you can convince them.”

He had the good sense to flush. Rather a charming thing, if you thought about it. The little spots of color on his cheeks were the first step in the mush process.

He adjusted his position and with a crooked smile said,

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“No, actual y. I’m trying to meet payrol .”

“It’s a damned effective strategy.”

“I would think so. C’mon. I swear I’l pay it back at the end of the quarter—with ten percent interest.”

“It seems to me,” he said, leaning forward in earnest,

“that for sixty-three thousand dol ars I could expect a little more.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Sure. Whatever. Twelve percent?”

“Not interest. Skin.”

He said it in the same tone that he might say, “Hand me the stapler,” or “Let’s go over the Ryneman numbers.” Joss had to re-review it in her head to ensure she’d heard it right.

“I … I …”

“I’d be risking my reputation. Why shouldn’t you risk yours?” he said.

“How much?” she asked, shocked. This peek of paradise was supposed to be enough. Jeez, what was happening to business ethics?

He gestured toward everything north of her belt. “Al of it.”

Risk and reward. The seesaw of business. She could barely think over the pounding in her ears. The diamond on her finger glinted and she nearly said no, but then she thought of her mother. Was her mother’s dream for this company going to die with Joss? Was Ann’s son going to go without dialysis? No effing way. Time to put her business acumen to work.

She lifted her shaking hand and loosened the buttons.

“And open, please,” he said.

“Your admin is sitting outside.”

He pressed a button on his phone. “Pat?”

“Yes, Mr. Reynolds?”

“Close the door, wil you? I don’t want to be disturbed.”

Joss sat frozen while Pat stepped into the rear of the office, no doubt thinking the meeting would continue to be about negotiations and outcomes, which, come to think of it, wasn’t far from the truth. Pat closed the door. Rogan leaned back in his chair.

Joss had at least imagined this possibility. It would have been foolish to entertain this strategy without having done so. But she’d been so certain Rogan would stop at a certain, albeit, not purely innocent, level of flirtation.

She spread the silk.

His irises widened. It was a biological effect he couldn’t hide no matter how skil ed he was—or perhaps she should say one of the effects. The trick was going to be teasing that effect as far as it would go under her control without starting a biological apocalypse. She was reminded of the men who in 1945 were about to set off the first experimental atomic explosion and were “pretty certain” it wouldn’t destroy the Earth’s atmosphere. She hoped pretty certain was enough. She also hoped no one in the building across the street had binoculars.

Her cel vibrated. The sound of a text. She cut her gaze to the display. It was from Di. “R u doing it?” Joss clapped her hand over the screen.

Rogan pointed to the clasp between her breasts from which a tiny pearl dangled. “Does that little thing there open it?”

“It does.” God, she needed to get on top of this situation.

“Would you mind … ?”

“I wouldn’t,” she said, leaning slightly forward, “but it seems to me that’s something you might rather do yourself.”

He made a dry, choking noise.
Ha! Mush prevails!

“And al it takes is a quick cal to Charlie.” Charlie was the president of the Brand Industries board. “Just to let him know the plan.”

This was it. If he talked to Charlie, he’d be committed.

Rogan licked his lips.

“May I?” He gestured to the clasp with an earnest look in his eye. “Just a touch?”

Bless his mother; he’d been raised to be polite. She nodded.

He brought his hand to the metalwork, slipping his forefinger under the clasp and letting his thumb brush the swaying pearl. He tugged slightly, measuring the tension.

“Oh Lord,” he whispered.

The electricity from his touch surprised her, as did the smel of sandalwood on his skin.

“Charlie,” she reminded careful y.

“Right.” He picked up his cel and pressed a couple buttons. Then his eyebrows went up and he hit the keyboard quickly. “Oops. Misdialed.” He made a nervous laugh.

Joss was glad to see he was nervous, too. This wasn’t exactly a strol through the Nordstrom handbag department for her.

He tried the cal again and held up a finger. “Ringing.”

She nodded and he leaned forward. “Charlie—Oh.” He put his hand over the receiver. “Voicemail,” he whispered then said, “Charlie, it’s Rogan. I, ah, need to run a quick Brand O’Mal ey situation by you. I know the acquisition price has been agreed, but there’s a request on the table for sixty-three more in the form of a thirty-day loan. Give me your thoughts.” He hit the END button and smiled.

She crossed her arms, drawing in the flaps of her blouse closed. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What? I did it.”

The first hint of desperation had broken in his voice. Now she had him. “You forgot something. Your support.” Without Rogan’s enthusiastic endorsement of the plan, al Charlie had to do was say no. She began to button her blouse.

“Wait.”

She stopped and lifted her brow.

“The thing is,” he said, “it’s hard to be a cheerleader for something I don’t ful y support.”

“Oh, dear. I wouldn’t want anything to be hard for you.”

She came around the table, seated herself on the desk, and leaned back on her palms. The flaps slipped open wider and wider.

He inhaled and closed his eyes. “Does this plan include touch?”

She knew he didn’t mean the acquisition. “Um …” She swal owed. This was certainly way more than she’d bargained for. “Can you be more specific?”

He pursed his lips, considering. “Palms, fingers, knuckles, cheeks and lips.”

Oh. My. God.

“Palms, yes,” she said at last. “The rest, no.”

His cel started to vibrate, and he opened his eyes. “It’s Charlie. I have to tel you, I’m not feeling very enthusiastic.”

The phone buzzed, paused and buzzed again. He lifted his shoulders in a question.

“Palms and cheek,” she offered.

The third buzz, and then the fourth.

“Fine,”
she said. “Palms, cheeks and a single kiss.”

“Nip,” he corrected, and picked up the phone. “Charlie, hi. You got my message?” He gestured for her to open her blouse even more. “It might inspire me,” he whispered.

“Yeah. It’s a short-term thing. Thirty days, paid in ful . How do I feel?” He lifted a brow in Joss’s direction and waited for her to remove more silk. “Wel , sales are improving.

There’ve been a couple very nice peaks today.” He gave her a broad smile. “And there’s a big order coming in—a very big one, in fact. So, overal , I’m feeling pretty good about it.”

Bingo
.

“Al right. I’l give them the good word.” Rogan laid down his cel .

“Nice work,” Joss said. “But there’s no big order, my friend. Except in your head.”

“That’s not where it is, but I take your point.” He unfolded himself from the chair.

She braced herself.

He drew a finger from her bel y to her sternum and flicked the pearl.

She gasped. It was as if al the current in the room was being driven through that single digit.

He slipped the silk off her shoulders. It slid like a breath of air down her bare skin. He brought his hands to the clasp and released it, letting the fabric spread slowly, then traced the soft rise that began on each side of her col arbone.

She inhaled sharply.

“Nice,” he said.

“You bet your—”

He brushed the wire and lace aside, and Joss’s ability to speak vanished.

Dialysis,
she reminded herself.

“Your breasts,” he said, “are magnificent.”

“Thank you.”

He stood up, spread apart her knees and inserted himself careful y between them. His suit was the finest Italian wool, but even Armani couldn’t have planned for the particular tailoring chal enge Rogan was facing.

Slowly, he placed his palms over the tip of her nipples, and moved them back and forth. Just the barest touch. Heat rose between her legs.
Dialysis,
she reminded herself.

Dialysis
.

He brought her hands behind her again, palms on the desk. Her breasts poked skyward. He lowered his face to them and rubbed his bristled cheek across one nipple, then brushed the other.
This,
she thought nervously,
is how you
lose the Earth’s atmosphere.

He took the first gently in his teeth, and she arched against him involuntarily. If she wasn’t careful, that big order would be coming in just as he described.

“I want more,” he said.

“I’m getting that impression. There’s only one problem.”

She unwrapped her leg from behind him and returned it to a locked position across its mate. “We’ve finished the deal.

Which isn’t to say we might not play again sometime.”

Though she sincerely hoped not. Not this game, at least.

She reached for her bra and al owed herself a huge internal exhale of relief.

“Hold on. Let’s think this through.”

Think? She almost laughed. “Deal’s done, Rogan.”

“Please. Listen. You’re spread out on my desk like this and stil out of reach?” He lowered his voice. “I’m going to die if I don’t have you. Right here. Right now.”