The Cutting Edge (6 page)

He looked guilty. “I guess I got carried away over Nelda.”

“I enjoyed hearing about Nelda,” she reassured him.

“I know you've probably been bored, but really, I think we're going to be able to market Nelda. Hillary and I have put a lot of time and money into her; she's really something.”

Was he talking about the computer or Hillary? Probably the computer. Deciding to give him a nudge in the right direction, Tessa said blandly, “It must be marvelous to have someone like Hillary, someone who understands your work and wants the same things you do.”

Hillary flushed, but Sammy wasn't paying any attention. “Yeah, she's really great.”

As quickly as she could without appearing rude, Tessa downed her sandwich and drank her cold drink, then gathered up her purse and light coat. “I really have to be going now.”

Sammy walked her to the door. “I owe you a chess lesson,” he said, smiling. “How about tomorrow night?”

For some reason, Tessa thought she'd probably had her last chess lesson. It was better not to cause trouble. “I already have plans for tomorrow night, and I know you better than that, anyway! You're still going to be playing with Nelda to see if she can do everything you think she can.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders to work out the kinks. “You're probably right. We still have a lot of work to do on her. Maybe next week?”

“Maybe,” she said, giving him a smile. He'd be so involved with his work that he'd never notice; she had been the one who had pursued their friendship, easing him out of part of his shyness.

Later that evening, when she was ready for bed, she sat with pillows behind her back and a pad of writing paper on her knees. Her weekly letter to Aunt Silver was its usual mixture of news and comment, and at the end of it she mentioned Brett Rutland. As she sealed the envelope she smiled to herself. She'd deliberately been casual in her mention of him, knowing that Aunt Silver's antennae would begin quivering as soon as she read the name.

* * *

B
ILLIE HAD BROUGHT
coffee and doughnuts for their midmorning break, and they had just begun their second doughnut when Tessa's phone rang. She answered it absently.

“I just want to confirm tonight. Six-thirty.”

She hadn't heard his voice on the phone before, but there was no mistaking his identity. She closed her eyes briefly at the pleasure that rippled through her at just the sound of his voice. “Yes. Six-thirty.”

“Do you like to dance?”

“Did granny wear garters?”

His low, rough laugh filled her ear. “Wear your dancing shoes.”

When she hung up the phone, Tessa was aware that her heart wasn't beating in its regular rhythm, and she felt a little breathless. Even over the phone, his impact almost knocked her down. She thought of his thick, tawny brown hair and navy eyes, and it became even more difficult to breathe.

“Don't you ever stay at home?” Billie said automatically. It was practically standard procedure for Tessa to have at least one offer to go out every day.

“Of course I do. You know Monday night is laundry night.”

They laughed together, but Tessa's mind was already on the coming night. They would have dinner, go out dancing…and then what? Would he try to make love to her again? She was afraid that he would, and even more afraid that he wouldn't.

Billie regarded her friend thoughtfully. “You know, this is the first time I've seen you get cloudy-eyed over a man. Is this one special to you?”

“I'm afraid he will be.” Well aware of the admission in those few words, Tessa wound her suddenly shaking fingers together.

“You don't want to fall in love? Sometimes I think I'd give anything I own to find the right guy, the real McCoy.” Why should Tessa, of all people, be nervous about a man? Of all the people Billie knew, Tessa was the most comfortable with men, a woman who honestly
enjoyed a man's company. It didn't make sense for her to be so wary.

Tessa didn't volunteer Brett's name, and Billie didn't ask, for which Tessa was grateful. She didn't know how Brett felt about their connection being known, but she knew she wouldn't like the gossip that would flow as surely as the tides followed the moon if it became known that she was seeing Brett Rutland. His position automatically made their relationship difficult. She was totally uninterested in climbing the corporate ladder, but that wouldn't keep people from saying that she was trying to get ahead on the strength of her performance in the bedroom rather than in the office.

Because of her uneasiness at both the way she was beginning to feel about him and the difficult situation she could find herself in at work, she was quiet that night. She could feel his cool gaze dissecting her, trying to probe her thoughts. Over coffee, he asked, “Has something upset you?” His voice was so even that it took her a moment to hear the steel in it.

She blew across the steaming surface of the coffee, then sipped it. “Not really. I'm a little at a loss. Would you rather not have people from the office know we've been out together?”

“I don't give a damn who knows.”

“I know I'm being premature in worrying about it. After all, we've only been out twice, and that doesn't mean—”

“Yes, it does mean,” he interrupted, reaching for her hand. He put his hand on the table, palm up, and looked at her slender fingers as they lay across his palm. The contrast in their hands was striking, in ways besides
the obvious one of size. His hands were powerful, lean and hard, with long fingers and short clean nails, his fingertips rough, his skin bronzed. Her hands were slim and delicate, the bones so fragile that her fingers were almost translucent, her oval nails polished. Her hands bore no rings.

“Have you ever been married?” he asked abruptly, looking at her bare fingers.

“No.”

“Engaged?”

She sipped her coffee for a moment before replying. “Twice.”

His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“I found out that I didn't love either of them enough.”

“You must have thought you did, at one time.”

She sighed and looked away from him. She didn't particularly want to talk about her failed engagements, which to her were almost as bad as failed marriages, but she could sense his determination to get the details out of her.

“The first time, it was an infatuation that I took for love, that's all. I was in college, and Will was a medical student. He wanted us to get married right away; he'd already planned for me to quit college and put him through school. I gave him his ring back.”

He was watching her very closely, reading every nuance of expression that crossed her face. “And the second time?” he asked, dismissing Will as unimportant because he sensed her reluctance to continue.

“Andrew,” she said slowly, somehow feeling compelled to answer him. “He did something that hurt me, and I didn't love him enough to forgive him.”

After several moments of silence, Brett realized that she wasn't going to enlarge on her explanation. His hand tightened on hers. “Tell me,” he insisted. The dim light above his head turned his tawny hair into dark gold and cast shadows on his face that made it seem harder, more dangerous.

Her hand moved restlessly in his. “I don't believe in raking over old coals. I don't think about it anymore. I picked up the pieces and moved on.”

“Tell me,” he whispered, his eyes as dark as midnight.

“He was unfaithful.” Simple words, old-fashioned words, but for her they were the epitaph for a romance. With her heart, Tessa gave fidelity, and she expected the same in return. Andrew had cheated her, promising her faith and giving her only deceit.

Brett's eyes brushed over her throat and shoulders and breasts, his gaze as hot as a touch. “He was a fool. Why would any man want to sleep around when he could have you in his bed every night?”

Tessa looked up at him, and color rose in her cheeks at the way he was looking at her. Still holding her hand, he rose to his feet. “Dance with me,” he invited.

She went willingly into his arms, grateful for the hard strength that enfolded her, for the warmth of his body. The virile impact of his masculine appeal made her tremble, but being in his arms also made her feel safe, as if his strength held the rest of the world at bay. She put her arms around his shoulders, sighing a little in contentment.

“Did you enjoy your chess lesson?” he murmured, brushing her soft hair and temple with his lips.

She laughed against his throat. “We never got around to it. Sammy was so excited over his new computer that he couldn't think about anything else.”

“What sort of new computer?”

“Nelda. He swears it's going to revolutionize the personal computer industry, and maybe it will. For his sake, I hope so. He has to have a small fortune sunk into all of that equipment he has in his apartment. I don't see how he can afford to eat.”

Above her head, Brett's eyes narrowed as he filed that bit of information away in his memory. Automatically his arms tightened about her, pulling her closer so that her breasts flattened against his muscled chest. “Did you tell him there wouldn't be any more chess lessons?”

“No, there was no need. He's so involved with Nelda, he won't even notice.”

“Why did you get involved with him in the first place? He isn't your type.”

Tessa stiffened a little in his arms. “He's a nice man; why isn't that my type?” She seldom bothered herself enough to take offense at anything anyone said, but she couldn't ignore Brett. She was vulnerable to him in ways she didn't even want to think about. Just what did he think her “type” was?

“He'll never be the life of the party,” Brett said coolly. “And for all his electronic genius, you could wind him around your little finger and he'd never realize it. If you had him as steady company, you'd be bored to tears within a week.”

She stared up at him, trying to read his thoughts in his hooded enigmatic eyes. She was more than a
party-girl, and she wanted him to see that, to see the woman beneath the gay and frothy facade. Did he think she was just out for a good time, that she was only attracted to people who were as comfortable socially as she was? “I'm never bored with Sammy,” she said, her voice steady, concealing the faint hurt that was welling in her. “I like him very much, whether he's my type or not.”

Slowly his arm tightened about her waist, pulling her so close to him that his hard body felt imprinted against her softer one. “He doesn't matter, since you won't be seeing him again. I want you; I'm going to have you. And I don't share.”

Tessa caught a quick breath at the hard, determined note in his voice. She was accustomed to being pursued, but Brett was a man who not only chased, but caught his prey. Her frail butterfly wings would be useless against his power, yet she wouldn't feel threatened at all if she knew she could entrust herself to him. Did he want her for herself, or did he only want to conquer her because of the challenge she represented, to catch the fragile and elusive butterfly simply so he could say she'd belonged to him for a while?

Perhaps he saw some of her doubts reflected on her face, in her clear green eyes, because he slid his hand down to boldly cup her bottom, propelling her forward to press her hips against his in a gesture so provocative and possessive that she barely stifled the startled cry that came to her lips. “Get used to it,” he drawled, and something frightening moved in his navy eyes.

Her face burning, Tessa looked around hastily to see if anyone had seen him, but no one was paying any
attention to them, and she felt her color begin to fade. The evening, which had begun so quietly, was getting out of hand. “I want to go home now, please,” she told him evenly.

“Are you certain? It's still early.”

“Yes, I'm certain. I'd like to go now.”

Perhaps she was being foolish in abandoning a public place for a private one, but Tessa felt that she could handle herself better without an audience. He wasn't the kind of man to force a woman; she had no fear that the evening would end in a wrestling match. Even given the provocation of the way she'd kissed him the first time they'd gone out together, he'd been more understanding than she would have expected any man to be, under the circumstances. The problem was that when he kissed her, she didn't want him to stop. Ever. And there was a sensual determination about him now that made her pulse rate increase. If he pressed the issue, would she give in? She was weak, because she wanted very much to give in; she wanted to be in his bed and give herself to him. The strong physical attraction she'd felt for him from the beginning was rapidly intensifying. She was beginning to love him, despite everything her common sense was telling her. She knew that he was a walking heartache, a man who had such a strong sensual appeal to women that he probably couldn't even remember the names of those who had shared their beds with him.

She was silent on the drive to her apartment, and so was he, though occasionally she could feel his intent gaze on her. If only she could read his thoughts! But he kept them well-hidden, and she had no idea what he wanted from her beyond the obvious: physical gratification. To really know him would be a lifetime occupation, she thought. He kept himself too well guarded; he was so cool, so controlled even in his passion. The woman who broke that control would find herself with a volcano on her hands, but Tessa shivered with excitement at the thought of being that woman.

Once again he preceded her into the apartment and checked all of the rooms before returning her key to her. She stood still, a little wary as he approached her, and a faint smile touched his chiseled mouth as he put his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up to him. “You pretty little witch,” he whispered, his warm breath caressing her face. “You tie a man in knots with your flirt-and-retreat games. You can keep on flirting, baby, but I'm going to put an end to those teasing retreats. Kiss me. I've been driving myself crazy for two days, thinking about your mouth and the way you taste.” He brushed his lips over hers in a light, tantalizing caress. “Kiss me,” he demanded again, then took the choice away from her by fastening his mouth on hers, hard, his tongue going deep and again giving her his heady taste. Her eyes closed on a hot swell of pleasure, and her hands clenched his shoulders.